Love & Glory
by Daughter of the Black
Summary: Life is a series of choices that influence each moment. Sylar made a very important choice as he stood with Samuel looking down as the ink settled on his arm. That choice changes the course of the rest of his life, and he has all the patience in the world because he wants to live the story of their life. Sylaire. AU of Let it Bleed. [Holiday fic 2014]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes

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><p><em>01 December, 2009<em>

The ink swirled under his skin, like pigment in water, not mixing or settling, just flickering about. It was an odd sensation, a ghost of a breath upon his chest, his shoulder, his back, his neck. It prickled too, not painfully; more like gooseflesh after someone trails their fingers over warm skin.

His pulse raced as the ink seemed to settle slightly. When the ink did settle the tall man swallowed. _Of course_. It would be that, it always was, always would be. It was _her_. The ink had formed a perfect three-quarters portrait of the Cheerleader. Every millimeter was her, from the sweep of her hair to the disillusioned look in her eyes. His fist curled in reflex as he looked at her, the muscles cording beneath his flesh causing her image to ripple slightly, her pout flashing into a smile for half a second before disappearing. It was very her. It was the mask that she wore so easily, the cheerleader that had always been so much more than she appeared.

"Well, isn't that interesting," the sly comment was breathed with an underlying smirk. Sylar's jaw tightened a little further before he consciously relaxed it. He knew better than most the danger of that particular brand of smirk. It wasn't idle. There was a deeper subtext of glee of a plan unfolding perfectly. That irked the dark man. He was no one's plaything. Not again, not ever again. He had been stung once too many times by that beehive to be unaware of the signs of the trap.

Sylar relaxed, letting his newly inked arm fall to his side. "I guess you were wrong. I don't belong here," he told the Carnival's Master with as unaffected an air as possible. He stepped back and turned to face his would-be puppet master. In swift movements that lacked the aggression of the man's nature Sylar tugged his t-shirt on and smoothed it down, moving towards the exit of the tent.

His steps faltered at the opening, turning his head to look back at the older man. Sylar snorted softly, "Who am I kidding." The animal in the man burst forth in one powerful push. Sylar had his foe immobilized. Sylar's lip twitched, itching to curve upward into a smile, as Samuel's dark-lined eyes flickered frantically. He epitomized prey searching futilely for an escape. There would be no escape.

"Oh Samuel, I am grateful to you," Sylar stepped up to the man who was pinned against a beaten-down trailer. A large breath slipped past the killer's lips, "If you hadn't tried to make me play your game I never would have gotten this power. Realized what I now know I have to do."

Samuel choked, his breath rasping from his throat.

"Shh, shh," Sylar slid his hand up the other man's throat, long fingers tightening along with his power. "I can see the path now. The funny thing about this is that Lydia wanted to manipulate me to kill you, and I wasn't going to do that. And then…well, you can imagine the influence a girl like Claire has over people." Sylar smirked. "You see, Claire and I are…she's special. You wouldn't understand."

Sylar stepped back, "So thank you, for reminding what has always been important."

The rasping became a gasp and a sharp crunching. Samuel died without screaming, it was pitiful, a small death befitting a small man.

Straightening, the man's slack face stretched into a dark smile. Already the path was straightening, Sylar glanced down at the portrait and his smile softened.

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><p>He wasn't particularly handsome. He knew that, he certainly hadn't been popular in school. He was an outcast, a geek, scorned by <em>her<em> type. Hell, he still was. Sylar wasn't blind or a fool. On occasion he let hope overcome his senses, but he had seen how she acted with the younger Petrelli. She was all eyelashes and sweet smiles. She had been smiling up at her hero, all the adoration and love in the world in her eyes. It had enraged him to a point, even when he was hunting her she wasn't focused on him.

His desperation to be recognized, to be seen, had driven Sylar. He had needed to make her see him, fear, pain, hatred were better than nothing. It made her look at him. Made her eyes light with anger, she saw him. So Sylar played the part, he hunted her; he made a nuisance of himself. It was the role he was destined to play. The geek to her cheerleader, always lingering on the fringes of her life.

Then things had changed. He had been caught in a trap. He had been played, used. He had been told he was a Petrelli, wanted, special. He felt like maybe he wasn't the outcast, and for one brief moment he got to be the hero. He saved her, saved the Cheerleader. For a brief moment when his hand closed around her delicate wrist and their eyes locked there was no glint of hatred or anger, there was only the fear of the unknown and a flash of relief. Her pulse under his hand had shuddered and clamed.

Sylar reveled in being the suave hero who rescued the damsel in distress in the nick of time. Claire had pulled away, but the moment didn't disappear. She saw him, saw him in a way no one had before. His mother, Angela and her sons, The Company, Elle, Noah, Mohinder and his father, Hiro, none of them had seen him. They had seen who they wanted to: their precious boy, the weapon, the tool, the pawn, the killer, the Boogeyman.

It hadn't made sense, grabbing her, preventing her removal from the world. He had what he had sought from her: the power to heal. If it were anyone else he would have sat back and relished the turn of events. Not with Claire, he had grabbed her wrist and he had pleaded with her. He had let her see the desperation, the desire to be accepted for who he really was. Sylar wasn't a bad man despite what Hiro and Molly might say, he was, once, a good man who followed the rules and genuinely tried to help people.

His power had changed things, changed him. The whispers in the back of his mind, the unquenchable thirst for power overpowered him. Gabriel had tried to stop himself, had tried to be good again, but he had become Elle's pawn, the Company's pawn. In those moments of hope he had been too blind to see the trap. Now he saw the path he had traveled on to get to this moment.

Everything was a product of a choice in a previous moment. The hotel, Nathan, Matt, the Carnival, the tattoo, Samuel's death and the deaths of those immutably loyal to him. Those seemingly small choices had brought him here to this moment.

Sylar breathed shallowly as he watched her slump down onto her bed. A note fluttered to the ground and he heard her exhale sharply. She wasn't happy. She was annoyed, Sylar knew that exhalation perfectly.

Claire unzipped her boots and slid them off her feet, toes wiggling at the new-found freedom. She padded across the room to the window. Sylar's upper-lip twitched upward minutely. She stared out, past him, but Sylar saw her, met her gaze and the tension and uncertainty inside him uncoiled.

Each breath was fire in his lungs. He could almost feel her silky soft skin under his fingertips, the sleek strands of her hair beneath his palm, and the press of her full lips against his, the sweetness of a peach against his tongue.

He needed her. Sylar would admit it to no one but her. Sylar had never admitted it to anyone but her. He had been sincere in the hotel. Sylar would never let her go, she could rage and hate him, kill him, but he would be there for her, on the fringe of her life.

Now, now Sylar knew that would never be enough. Not after the tattoo had settled. He needed Claire to see him, to see value, to see a man she was…proud of, that she could care about.

He had been lost after coming back to himself. Sylar needed Claire to give him answers, to give him purpose again.

So he stood, watching her, waiting for the next choice on this path.

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><p>AN: 1/25. Each Christmas I pick a fandom I love and write a Christmas fic a chapter a day. So in exchange for a chapter please let me know what you think. I'm writing this for all the Sylaire fans as my first foray into the world of Heroes.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes

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><p><em>02 December, 2009<em>

Claire blinked hazily and shook a curtain of pale blonde hair out of her eyes. The bed across from hers was still empty. Gretchen had yet to come back from the library. _Library_, Claire bit back the snort of disbelief. She should have known she would be disappointed in the end. She always was.

It was, apparently, too much to ask of the universe that just once things would work out for Claire. Rolling onto her back the young woman curled into herself and the warmth of her bed. She wasn't ready to face the world, let alone go to class or get out of bed. She had lost her father all over again, Nathan was gone, for real. All of those visits, the coffees, the laughter had been a lie. It had been Sylar of all people.

Eyelids slid shut over tear-glossy green eyes. She had watched his body burn…except it wasn't him. It had never been him. Her nightmare wasn't over. Her breath shuddered in her throat, making the flesh tighten uncomfortably.

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><p>Claire walked along with the throng of people towards the dining center, she liked crowds, it was easier to go unnoticed. For a long time Claire had sought to be seen, and then she had desperately tried to hide, to hide what she was. She had been burned once too many times by the spotlight. Being a cheerleader had brought her into Brody's awareness. That had been nothing but bad news. Saving the man in the train had brought Sylar. Her birth parents had opened her to a whole new level of scrutiny. She was <em>special<em> and wanted, Samuel had reminded her.

It wasn't that Claire _wanted_ to hide forever. Claire just didn't want to be in…agony anymore. Hiding meant no one saw how _special_ she was. She hated that word. It had been repeated ad nauseam in a variety of tones: placating, condescending, dark, sweet, soothing, and hopeful. The list went on. It was her epithet: _Special_ Claire.

Claire didn't want to be special anymore. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to wake up and chatter mindlessly with her roommate, get breakfast and complain about how dull her professors were, she wanted to get her degree and get a normal job. She didn't want to save the world or work for the Company. She didn't want to sacrifice the life she had dreamed of as a child.

So Claire Bennet, oldest child of Sandra and Noah Bennet, stood in line and handed her ID over to the apathetic cashier. She didn't smile or speak, she just kept moving with the crowd.

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><p>The silver spoon dipped in and out of the cereal, sliding noisily along the corn flakes. Each time the spoon dropped it tapped dully on the bottom of the bowl before retracting. The hand attached to the spoon bobbed lazily, its owner detached from the world passing around her.<p>

Claire watched her peers move with purpose, okay, hunger was probably a better descriptor, but they were part of the whole. Claire could fake it with the best, but then reality set in and she ended up sitting alone at the lunch table. Like the nerd she once was. Nerd might have been a bit of an overstatement. Claire wasn't in the math club or anything, but she was smart. She studied and she worked hard. She had a work ethic that wasn't to be scoffed at. West had recognized how smart Claire was, and her biology teacher had noticed it. Sitting in this particular dining call on this particular university campus was proof of her intelligence.

The spoon dropped again before rising. A chair scraped and Claire started, her gaze snapping into focus. Her lungs froze, her lower jaw dropping slightly.

"Hello, Claire," his voice was soft, conversational, as if he were any other guy sitting down at her table and smiling at her.

There was the tightness in her throat again, "Sylar."

Her whole body was stiff as she checked her surroundings. It was a crowded room, busy, if she screamed people would notice. If she screamed, people might try to help, people Sylar would have no issue stopping. Claire looked at him, he was reclining in the chair, his body not directly facing her but his eyes trained on her. Dark hair swept back neatly, mouth upturned a tick, clothing relaxed but still seething power.

"Relax," Sylar recommended, "I just want to talk, Claire."

"Yeah right," the blonde huffed, eyes rolling slightly, "You have a track record."

He sighed and leaned forward, lacing his hands atop the table. "I'm a very patient man, Claire."

"Right, because all of those hasty murders were the definition of patient," Claire shook her head and crossed her arms across her stomach as she leaned back. There was the fire. It sparked in her green eyes brightening them as the young woman's strength reared upward.

Long fingers unlaced as Sylar reached for the abandoned spoon, dipping it into the bowl and scooping up some soggy flakes. Locking eyes with his counterpart, the dark haired man brought the spoon to his mouth. He smiled around the spoon, flipping it in his mouth before pulling it out slowly and pointing it at her. "I was a different man then. I made a lot of bad choices."

There was the little huff of indignation again. "_Bad_ choices, killing a ton of people and stealing their powers is not a _bad_ choice, it's evil!"

"It's not that simple," the spoon dropped back into the bowl with a splash. "Claire, you know it isn't."

"You killed my father," she gritted out, fingers tightening on her own arms.

Sylar reached forward, fingers brushing the back of her hand before she jerked out his reach. "You're hurting yourself."

"Like you even care," Claire sniffed but relaxed her fingers anyway. His hand snapped out, catching her wrist and pulling her left hand into his. Claire jerked, trying to tug her wrist free from the shackle-like grip. The bravado slipped from her manner as she struggled. "Let go!"

Sylar flashed a sad smile and moved his other hand to cup her balled fist. "I am sorry, Claire," his voice was soft. Measured but firm.

"Don't," she said as her eyes tearing and her mouth turned to a sad pout, "lie to me."

"I am sorry, Claire," Sylar repeated, squeezing her hand in his. "I am sorry I hurt you."

"Okay," Claire smiled shakily. "Clearly I'm having a really weird nightmare."

"Do you usually dream about me," Sylar grinned, teeth glinting roguishly.

"Oh yeah," Claire nodded her voice lowering to a husky purr. "I dream about you all the time. Running my hands through your hair, down your chest, pressing up against you…"

"And," Sylar asked softly, leaning forward to match Claire's posture.

"And," Claire glanced up at him through her lashes almost shyly, "jamming an ice pick into your skull."

The chuckle was quiet at first but it built and built, Sylar shaking with mirth. After several deep shaking breathy laughs the man stilled, his face calming. "I'll change your mind, and those dreams will end a lot differently."

Bright green eyes rolled and a half-smile broke across Claire's face, "In your dreams." She regretted it the minute it came out of her mouth, the minute one dark eyebrow quirked up and his dark eyes glinted. Sylar had a way of looking at Claire that made the rest of the world mute and fade.

"Give me a chance," Sylar murmured as he shifted his grip so he could stroke the delicate skin on the inside of Claire's wrist. Her pulse jumped under his touch.

"Not even in hell," Claire said sharply, jerked her hand away and pushed away from the table.

Sylar let her go. Now wasn't the time or the place. Turning, Sylar smoothed a hand over his covered tattoo.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Claire," he called after the retreating Blonde.

He could be patient, just this once. For her. Because she was the most important person in the world to him.

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><p>AN: 2/25. So…had an interesting morning. I was getting ready for work and I managed to drop my only pair of glasses…they promptly broke in half. It was a long blurry day. Happy Holidays!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes

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><p><em>03<em> _December, 2009_

She was in the library when she saw him. He wasn't exactly being Bond about it. Sylar didn't make empty threats, so it didn't surprise Claire he had shown up. And, she supposed, if he was there to hurt her, he had already had a dozen chances. Claire had quickly relaxed, forcing herself to ignore him, well, for the most part.

Claire shook her head. This was _too_ easy. Grinning as she leaned over the balcony, Claire lifted the heavy tome above her head. Lower lip tucked between her teeth Claire shifted so that the book was centered above a certain man who was sitting reclined back feet on a table two floors.

"Geronimo," she smirked and let the book fall.

The reaction was instantaneous. Sylar shot into an upright position, the book heavy on his lap. The dark-haired man's head craned upward eyes locking on hers as he mouthed a vow of retaliation.

Claire bit back her laughter and pushed away from the railing. It had felt good, pulling one over on him again, catching him off guard. Seeing the…well, playful glare on his face sent a shiver up her spine.

Moving back to her cubicle, Claire curled her legs under her and slipped her headphones in, flicking her music on and her book open. Picking up her pen she began to take neat notes, her handwriting spaced carefully. She scanned the book again, humming happily as she found what she was looking for.

Her pen scratched across the paper as Claire jumped in her seat, her back arching sharply as a cold child slid down her spine. The wet trail of melted ice made her shirt stick in places. Tossing her pen down on the marred page of notes, Claire pushed away from the desk and spun in the chair to face her tormentor.

"Are you happy," Claire asked one hand snaking up beneath the back of her shirt to extract the sliver of ice.

"Are you," Sylar returned as he leaned back against the cubicle behind him.

Claire smiled sweetly, "I'd be happier if you would keel over."

Sylar inhaled and tipped his head back, Adam's apple bobbing. "Wasn't that what you tried to do earlier?"

"No," Claire smirked and tossed the chunk of ice at the looming man, hitting him squarely in the chest. "I was suggesting a book for you to read."

"I'm more of a murder-mystery-romance guy, less compendium of technology A.D. to 1950," Sylar rattled, ignoring the ice that had flopped to the ground after bouncing off of him.

"Really," Claire leaned back in her chair, "I always figured you for a horror-psychological-medical guy."

"Well now you know," Sylar cocked his head to the side. "In fact, we should go see one of my favorite movies. I think you would like it."

"Right," Claire leaned forward, "because for some wacky reason we are suddenly movie buddies."

"We have more in common than you think, Claire," Sylar rumbled as a hand raked through his neat hair, ruffling his pristine composure.

"Yeah, like what," the challenge was clear.

The former timepiece repairman was nothing if not willing to rise to a challenge. He stepped into the sitting woman, his knees brushing the edge of her chair. One arm reached behind her slipping against blonde hair before picking up Claire's notebook and discarded pen. Stepping back he sat on the desk behind him and pulled the chair Claire was sitting in to him. He watched her attempt to hide a grimace as she found herself neatly trapped between his thighs.

Pen in hand, Sylar began to speak, copying his words down as he did. "We were both adopted. Our fathers were terrible role models, our mothers were well meaning, but ineffective. We can't die. We both have issues following the rules. We are so much more than people see. You like pie, I like pie, and we both apparently have childish sides and love to surprise people. Shall I go on?"

Claire shook her head, "Surface stuff. That doesn't mean we have anything important in common."

"So understanding feelings of abandonment are surface connections?"

A roll of the eyes, "Favorite bands, books, movies…experiences."

"Then come see the movie with me," Sylar baited. "If you are so sure we have nothing _important_ in common then prove it."

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><p>"Seriously," Claire gestured in frustration at the screen, a gummy bear slipping from her grasp<p>

"Do you get kicked out of theaters often," Sylar asked in amusement, enjoying the reactions of the petite blonde.

Claire glanced at him quickly before turning back to the screen, "What, no."

"Really," Sylar was genuinely surprised.

"Oh shut up," Claire tossed a gummy at him. "This was your plan. You bought out the entire theater. I'll talk if I want to."

Sylar swiped the tub of gummy bears from the girl, popping a few in his mouth. "Will you just admit that you like it?"

Claire turned in her seat, lifting the armrest so she could fully face Sylar. "I like Rick, but Ilsa is a class-A bitch."

He blinked it wasn't the answer he expected. "Why?"

"Look at her, she's a popular girl and she's playing him to get what she wants. He's so in love with her that he doesn't see any other possible choice but to let her."

The way she said the word made it sound dirty. _Popular_. It was snide, a commentary not about Ilsa but about the type of woman Ilsa was. The type of girl Elle had been. The type of girl Sylar had always seen Claire as. The derision in her voice made him second-guess that.

"You were a cheerleader," he pointed out, waiting for the explanation that was crucial to her analysis.

Claire sighed and glanced at the film before meeting Sylar's dark eyes. "Yeah but I was still the outcast. I was only a cheerleader because my so-called-friend got me a spot on the team. I was persona non grata before that and after the bonfire. I was actually voted Homecoming Queen by the unpopular students because I stood up to the popular girls and this douche bag football player."

That was news to Sylar. Before they had met, she had simply been the _Cheerleader_, a title that didn't seem to fit her anymore. The picture that had been painted, that he himself had painted, of Claire was of a perfect childhood, frilly pink dresses, always the center of attention.

His face must have given away his train of thoughts because Claire frowned at him. "What did you think I was actually one of the cool kids?"

"Yes," was the simple answer. Sylar wasn't going to lie about it. That would not help his cause.

Claire frowned, "Yeah, I hide it well. For so long I wanted to be special…now, it's the last thing I want."

"All I wanted was for someone to see me for me," Sylar admitted, fingers itching to reach out and stroke her cheek. "I was never good enough for anyone."

"Is that why," Claire left the question unfinished, unwilling to be the one to bring up his murder spree.

Sylar shrugged his shoulders, dark jacket rising up and casting deeper shadows on his face. "Maybe," it was noncommittal, uncertain if it was an accurate assessment but willing to concede it might have been a factor.

"So…_Casablanca_," Claire shifted the conversation easily. "Not the worst movie I've ever seen."

Sylar leaned into Claire, smiling broadly. "So I was right?"

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," Claire rejected as fingers trailed against the strands of her hair.

Small victories, Sylar reminded himself. Each small victory was won with patience. He was taking ground inch by inch. He refused to be Sisyphus; Sylar would succeed in his pursuit of Claire.

"I was right," Sylar breathed softly, watching each flicker of her eyes and twitch of muscle beneath skin. He stroked the soft length of her hair, letting it slip between his fingers like water. This inch was her patience at his touch. Yesterday she had jerked away from him in a tumult of emotions.

Every inch counted. She wasn't terrified of him, wasn't attempting to kill him, and she wasn't calling daddy on him. Patience was the word. And Sylar was not willing to fail.

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><p>AN: 3/25. Had a lovely dinner, watched the Hawks game, and pumped this out. We're slowly getting to the fluffy and humorous aspect of this story. I wasn't sure how to start this story because it needed to feel like a natural uncovering of their relationship. There will still be introspective moments, but they will become fewer and farther in between. Drop me a line, and happy holidays!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>04 December, 2009<em>

"What are you wearing," Claire quirked a brow as she leaned against the doorjamb.

Sylar crossed his arms uncomfortably. "We're going to a frat party," he told her flatly.

"Dressed like that," she asked, looking him up and down.

The object of her scrutiny shifted slightly before folding his arms and stepping forward, forcing Claire to retreat into her room. Another large step left him inside her room and the door swinging shut behind him. "What's so wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"A white button up tucked into blue jeans," Claire asked incredulously, backing away from Sylar, desperate for a little personal space.

The ex-cheerleader dropped onto her bed amidst a pile of books and papers. Nimble fingers plucked papers up and assembled a neat pile on top her desk. Bed clear, Claire tucked her legs underneath herself before finally returning her attention to Sylar.

He had watched distance herself. Sylar's toes curled in his boots, he refused to crowd her. Not when they had actually had a few brief moments of near normality. She had let down her walls, let him in, just a little. Watching her desperately attempt to maintain her calm and her hatred was amusing. The tall man knew it would hardly be easy to put aside years of pain and hatred, history was hard to forget. Sylar would coax her along like a skittish kitten. He would convince Claire he was harmless, to her at least.

"So," Sylar wheedled, "what's wrong?"

Claire's head rolled to the side a little before she levered herself up with a little sigh. She walked towards him, tilting her head slightly so she could see him fully. She stepped around Sylar, ignoring how his head turned in an attempt to keep her in sight. Coming back to focus Claire rested her left arm across her stomach, hand on her right him. Her right hand propped up her chin, elbow resting on against her wrist. She hummed softly before dropping her stance and stepping up to Sylar. She just barely came up to his shoulder, her nose brushing the center of his chest. She felt him stiffen slightly, his breathing becoming a little shallower. Claire slid her arms between his arms and his side, wrapping her arms around Sylar's back and began tugging the button up shirt from his pants, systematically pulling and sliding the shirt free. When she reached his sides she leaned a little closer, the soft cotton of the shirt gathered in her fingers as she tried not to actually touch him.

She gulped as her hands became trapped between her stomach and his. Each twist and tug caused him to rock forward a fraction of a millimeter. It was almost unnoticeable, except, with every tug he brushed against her hands.

When the last of the cloth had been freed Claire stepped back and looked at him, she shook her head before her fingers darted upward to the small button pressed against his collar. She stared at the button as her fingers slipped the button from the shirt. Forcing her body to take clam, regular breaths, Claire's hands slipped down to the next button, and then the next.

Sylar stood frozen as her delicate hands slid down his chest, a light pressure that spoke more of a lover's touch than a mortal or immortal enemy's. As the last button slipped free Claire reached up, hands skimming aside the edges of the shirt, short nails and soft fingertips trailing against firm, pale, skin and thick dark hair.

Claire was certain she stopped breathing as she slid her hands under the fabric of the shirt and slid her hands down his arms, helping Sylar shed the button up. Forcing herself to exhale, Claire looked up at Sylar, her green eyes meeting his molten hazel eyes. She shoved the button up off his hands, head dipping with the force, her nose brushing against warm skin and smooth hair.

She inhaled sharply at the contact and felt her knees lock. Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it to still the movement. He smelled like fire and pure masculinity. He wasn't supposed to be any of this. He wasn't supposed to show up looking like he was taking her to a five-star restaurant and the theatre. He wasn't supposed to be so fit: firm chest, defined abs, strong arms. More importantly, Claire wasn't supposed to feel butterflies.

She stepped back and spun towards her closet as he opened his mouth to speak. "Going shirtless is more appropriate?"

The blonde tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed in relief. Claire hadn't been sure how to break the silence. It had built and thickened with each moment and each small movement of her body against his. It was _too_ intimate, her actions alone were overly familiar, add the silence and the scene became charged.

"No," Claire responded to his almost-sarcastic comment as she opened the door and began to dig through her clean laundry basket. "Here," Claire held up what was clearly a man's black t-shirt.

White teeth gritted at the sight and muscles tightened visibly, "And you have men's clothing because?"

"It's mine," her nose wrinkled at his train of thought. "I like to sleep in it."

The shirtless man took the shirt from her and tugged it over his head. It fit nicely; it was tight without being choking. Sylar wasn't a particularly vain man, however in recent years he had become much more aware of his appearance and how it could be used to benefit him. He caught his reflection in the mirror and Sylar could admit he looked good. He jerked slightly as Claire's fingers threaded through his hair, ruffling the strands into a more relaxed look.

"There," Claire stood back to admire her work, "That you can wear to a frat party."

The smile that spread across the blonde's face slipped as a grin etched itself on Sylar's face. "My turn," he purred taking a firm step forward.

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><p>"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Claire grumbled at the man who stood next to her in the corner.<p>

"The party or that dress," Sylar asked innocently.

"Both," was the sharp reply as Claire shifted in her three inch red pumps. Her hip cocked, emphasizing every curve of her body that little bit extra. Sylar had managed to dig out the one dress she owned that she hadn't ever worn outside the comfort of her own room, mostly because her father would probably lock her up in Level 5 if she ever did. It was a vivid red sweetheart-neckline bandage dress that stopped mid-thigh. It was tight and bright, she couldn't blend in if she tried.

"You're gorgeous," Sylar leaned down to whisper in her ear, eyes scanning the crowd of college kids.

Claire rolled her eyes. She had fought him on the dress, done her makeup grudgingly, and allowed him to curl an arm around her waist as they walked to the party. This wasn't her scene. Claire wasn't interested in the same things peers were. She had bigger concerns, like avoiding people finding out that she couldn't die or keeping out of the governments hands.

These kids were just that: kids.

"Look at them," Sylar's arm curled around her back, Claire stiffening as hand around her side, just above her hip. "They have no concept of the world outside of themselves."

"Yeah," Claire agreed. "It's kind of funny to watch them get drunk. I wonder what it feels like."

"You've never had alcohol," he was in disbelief.

She shook her head, "No, I have, I just can't get drunk. It's like poison, my body regenerates immediately. No light headedness, no tipsiness, no detachment from reality."

Sylar's fingers stroked small circles against Claire's stomach, soothing her and alarming her all at once.

"Don't get me wrong, it has its upsides," Clara looked up at him with a toothy smile. "I once drank a group of frat boys under the table on a bet."

He pulled away from her and moved to stand in front of Claire. Sylar inclined his head slightly and extended his hand, "Feel like a repeat? Let's go be the life of the party, Ms. Bennet."

Claire tried to suppress the smile, pressing her painted red lips together. She dropped her hand into his larger one, shoulders curling slightly as she gave him a coy look, "Certainly, My Good Sir."

He pulled her towards the center of the crowd, her hand in his. Sylar wasn't going to let her go, not now, not ever. Claire didn't flinch this time as his warm hand enveloped hers, the contact making her shiver warmly.

It was almost nice, Claire thought, pretending to be like everyone else, but not having to hide who she was from everyone. Sylar's words in that hotel room echoed in her head.

_You'll get bored, after like a hundred years of trying to off me, watching all your loved ones drop like flies. You may eventually come to forgive me. Maybe you'll even love me._

He was right, in a way. Claire was already feeling the ravages of loss. It would only ever get worse. He was the only one who would never leave her. She glanced down at the hand that led her through the throngs of people. Sylar would hold onto Claire, she would never have to face the prospect of being alone. No matter the pain he had caused her in the past, Claire was beginning to see the lifeline he might be in her future.

* * *

><p>AN: 4/25. Thank you for the lovely reviews, I really enjoy hearing what guys think of where I am taking this. I am really fighting myself with development of the relationship, and I think that comes out a little bit with the dichotomy of Claire's feelings. On one hand she is attracted to him, or at least aspects of him, and on the other she has a very dark, painful history with him. Well, hope you enjoy this installment. Anon, anon until tomorrow!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>05 December, 2009<em>

There it was in black. There was no denying, no going back. Claire needed answers, because it wasn't normal to find a perfect portrait of herself tattooed on her mortal enemy. She would even go as far as to say it was abnormal.

The blonde had actually been having a modicum of fun at the party only hours ago, and then the head of the sorority had smiled at Claire and said that it was sweet that her boyfriend had tattooed her face on his arm. That had brought the evening to a fairly quick halt. Claire had giggled lightly and stumbled over to Sylar, falling against him and pulling him down to her level so she could tell him it was time to leave.

She had marched him to the first all night café she could think of, slammed into a booth near the back and stared at the man across from her. After a long moment he lifted his arm from beneath the table. And there it was, in black, etched on his skin, her likeness.

How could she have missed it, Claire had undressed him, spent hours with him, in close contact, and she hadn't noticed. It wasn't exactly inconspicuous. It took up much of his inner forearm. The ink swirled across pale skin, sweeping into a detailed image of her face. It wasn't the sort of drawing that came from the memories of a few brief meetings. The detail belied a deeper knowledge of her.

"What the hell, Sylar," Claire finally broke the silence, hissing at him across the table.

His pulse beat against his throat, his jaw flexing, "I…"

Claire didn't let him finish she steamed forward, "You thought stalking wasn't creepy enough, that cutting my skull open wasn't enough, forcing me to be a marionette wasn't enough? Did you think, oh hey, I'll just tattoo Claire's face on my arm and max on the creep-factor!"

Sylar retracted his arm, folding it in his lap. "No, that's not what happened, Claire."

Claire slumped back in the booth, crossing her arms in front of her body and shaking her head slightly. "Then what, because from where I'm sitting there isn't a good explanation for _that_," her head inclined slightly in reference to the tattoo.

"After we last saw each other, the hotel, something happened," Sylar began.

"I know. They made you pretend to be Nathan, made you forget you."

Sylar shook his head in excitement, "No, it was more than that. Parkman suppressed me, and most of me slipped into his head. What was left in my body started to notice the breaks in the charade. I started using powers that Nathan didn't have, things didn't feel right."

"And," Claire asked grudgingly.

"I started remembering things, things I didn't understand," Sylar paused, editing the story to save Claire some pain, "I stepped on the wrong toes and I was shot. I woke up in a grave and I was me again, physically at least, but I didn't know who I was."

This was new. No one ever told her the details of what had happened. The honesty was nice, it made Claire relax just a little.

"I was arrested, they thought I was drunk, which I now know is impossible. One of the cops figured out who I was, that I had…killed my mother," Sylar was staring at the table, refusing to meet Claire's eyes. He had never told anyone who mattered what he had done.

"It was an accident, I read the file," Claire admitted.

His head jerked up, meeting her green eyes in shock.

"It wasn't your fault," she muttered.

"It was," Sylar swallowed. "She raised me, loved me, and I hurt her. It was my fault."

Claire reached across the table palm up. Sylar just stared at her, stared at her hand. She wiggled her fingers, "Come on," the eyes rolled. "I'm asking you to hold my hand, didn't think you pass that up."

The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes lightened for micro-second. His hand slipped atop hers, hiding her hand from sight. Her digits seeped warmth into his skin, his composure returning with each moment.

"I escaped, and I ran, they chased me towards these lights. It was a carnival, a man beckoned me in, so I went," Sylar continued his story.

"A carnival," Claire breathed, "with people like us?"

Sylar nodded, "How did you know?"

Claire shook her head, leaning forward towards Sylar, "I was just there. Did you meet Samuel?" A nod was the only response, "Sylar, he had boxes from Primatech, he had someone following me at school."

Sylar's hand shifted, so he was cupping Claire's hand, an unconscious attempt to protect her. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Claire denied, "he didn't want me to leave…Sylar, Samuel killed his brother. He's planning something big."

The panic in her voice reaffirmed the choice he had made in killing Samuel. The man had stepped over the line in approaching Claire. He squeezed her hand gently, "No, he's not." Claire looked ready to argue. "That's part of the story," he preempted her questions. "Samuel tried to help me remember, he wanted to use me, to make me kill for him. I fought it. I didn't want to be a killer. I _never_ wanted to be a killer."

Claire blinked in surprise. It wasn't that she had believed he had grown up pulling the wings off of butterflies. It was just startling to hear the confession from his lips.

"I took Lydia's power and I made Samuel give me a tattoo, I needed answers and you were it," he breathed hopefully.

"I don't…" Claire paled, "Why me?"

Sylar shrugged, an oddly insecure move, "I've been having trouble being myself, I don't know where to go from here. All I do know is that I need you."

"Samuel let you go," Claire asked, trying to push the weight of Sylar's words away from her mind.

A small shake of the head, "No, I felt his intentions. I knew what he was planning. I killed him. I killed those who were blindly loyal to him."

Claire might have flinched on any other day when she hadn't been through half a dozen severe shocks already. "Why?"

"You," Sylar answered earnestly. "You were standing in his way. He was ready to kill you, Claire. I couldn't allow that, not after I realized you are the most important thing in this world or the next."

She sighed, "So you found me."

"Yes," Sylar agreed.

Claire sat in silence trying to settle what she had always known about Sylar with this new man in front of her. This man wasn't the power-hungry killer she had known. The man who had saved her from Canfield was only a shade compared to the Sylar who sat before her. That was the danger, Claire supposed, when you sat down and talked to a person things stopped being black and white. Her hatred faded with each moment in his company, it still flared in odd moments when his actions spoke solely of the killer. The blinders were off and they wouldn't go back on.

* * *

><p>They ordered coffee and a slice of pie to share, sitting in near silence for hours. They exchanged the rare word but they were superficial.<p>

"What do you think," Sylar asked.

The fork dragged along Claire's lips, "Nice. Do you like rhubarb?"

"The tartness is good."

Claire nodded and drank deeply from her coffee cup. It wasn't awkward precisely. There was more of a hesitancy to break the amicable cease-fire. Sylar and Claire were reflexively antagonistic with each other, one wrong word and the progress made would be quickly erased.

Silence was better, for the moment at least. Neither mentioned that their hands were still linked, or that Claire's bare feet had ended up on Sylar's lap, and if on occasion his free hand slipped down to stroke the tender skin of her ankle, they pretended nothing had happened.

To any outsider they looked like couple they had impersonated at the party: Loving, devoted, happy, and real. In this moment, they were real and they were slipping into bliss. Bliss made of calm and understanding, something both evolved humans desperately needed.

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><p>AN: 5/25. Slowly but surely we are getting there. Thank you for the feedback, looking forward to hearing more, Happy Holidays.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>06 December, 2009<em>

Claire slipped her key into the lock. She was still wearing the red dress from two nights before. Saturday had been spent indulging Sylar in a short road trip in pursuit of pie. Claire hadn't asked where he had gotten the car. She knew it couldn't possibly be a legitimate possession. Sylar didn't have any real means of income except his golden touch. And that turn of phrase somehow sounded worse than it was.

So after waving goodbye to Sylar, and she never thought she would do that in this lifetime, Claire had walked up to her room her heels swinging from her hand. The lock clicked open and Claire pushed the door in, finding for the first time in almost a week her roommate lying in bed.

"Hey," Gretchen smiled weakly as she sat up. "Where have you been? It seems like I haven't seen you in forever."

Claire returned the smile. She didn't let loose any biting comments about Gretchen's near invisible man act. Instead, Claire nodded, "I've been spending a lot of time in the library."

"The library," Gretchen asked pointedly, smirking at Claire's outfit. "Is that some new club I haven't heard about?"

The door shut with a click and Claire set her shoes down by her bed. "Ha, no. I went to a party Friday night with an old friend. We ended up driving up into D.C. yesterday, I just got back."

"Clearly," it was a sharp assessment as Gretchen swung herself out of bed. "So who is this friend?"

The tone was almost expected; Claire picked up on the not so subtle avoidance routine. Stepping into her closet Claire slid out of her dress and pulled on a towel. It had been more than 24 hours since she had last showered and Claire needed a reset.

"Uh," Claire called over her shoulder as she gathered her shower caddy, "I've known him since I was in high school."

"Him," Gretchen's smile was forced, it showed in her voice. "Former boyfriend, current boyfriend?"

Claire shook her head, "It's not that simple."

Gretchen crossed her arms, "That's not a no."

"Look, we've known each other for a while and I need a friend right now," Claire stated finally. "I'm going to go shower, I'll be back in a few."

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><p>When Claire returned Gretchen was packing her bag for the day. "Hey," she said, "I'm going to breakfast and then the student center for a study sesh, wanna come?"<p>

Claire grabbed an extra towel and started to dry her hair. "I can't, I have plans this morning."

"Oh," the brunette frowned, "what's up?"

Claire slipped on a pair of cotton shorts under towel and a long sleeve shirt on top before shimmying the towel off. Dropping onto her bed with a little bounce, "We're having a movie marathon."

"Your friend," Gretchen's smile dropped. "The guy who is complicated."

"Yeah," Claire agreed. "He's picking up breakfast and some snacks and then coming by. You could stay, if you wanted to."

"I don't think that would be a good idea, I don't think your friend would appreciate me being here," Gretchen rejected the invitation. "I'm going to go. I'll see you around."

* * *

><p>Claire was pulling out her movie collection when the door swung open and Sylar's heavy footsteps sounded. She spun and glared at him. "God, don't you know how to knock," she demanded, "what if I was naked?"<p>

"Do you often walk around naked with the door unlocked," Sylar asked as he set the paper bags he was carrying on the ground.

"No," Claire frowned, "but what if I was."

"Then I would have enjoyed the show," Sylar smirked and darted forward to press a quick kiss to Claire's cheek.

She jumped in surprise, but didn't move to hit him. His lips against her skin were surprisingly gentle, and the light scruff of his stubble was softer than Claire expected. A slight smile stretched across her face as she turned to face him, "So what's for breakfast?"

"Fresh pancakes with warm syrup and strawberry smoothies," Sylar pulled the takeaway bag up from the floor.

"Yum," Claire groaned. "What movie do you want to start with?"

Sylar passed her one of the Styrofoam containers and dropped onto her bed, flipping through the box of films. "_Pride and Prejudice_," Sylar asked with interest. "I didn't think this was your thing."

"Well it is," Claire muttered as she shoved a forkful of syrupy pancake into her mouth.

The case was cracked up and Sylar pulled out the first disc of the mini-series, "Let's watch it."

The smile was easy and natural. The sixth day of their odd new acquaintanceship had grown easier with each hour, each moment.

* * *

><p>After much arranging, Sylar and Claire lay on her bed, side by side, his arm curled around her shoulder. Claire's laptop sat on their legs, the DVD playing as they polished off the last of their meal. Sylar had wolfed down his breakfast and was now picking at Claire's, she kept slapping his hand away playfully.<p>

"I'm a growing boy," he whined when she glared at him.

"And I'm the Queen of England."

"We could make that happen, Claire," Sylar told her darkly.

Claire rolled her eyes, "Ha-ha, Mister Funny. Just watch the show."

Sylar fell silent, pulling Claire as little closer. Her takeout container was quickly tossed aside as she curled further against Sylar's warmth. She considered vaguely how their position would look to her father, either of them, Peter, even Mohinder. She would get reamed and probably locked up for the next million years. Even so she leaned her head against his chest, as she watched Elizabeth fight-flirt with Mr. Darcy. She hummed in happiness.

"Why do you like this story so much," Sylar asked softly.

Claire shrugged as Sylar's fingers began to draw circles on his along her ribcage. "I guess it's because somehow love conquers all. I know its cliché and stupid, but I want that kind of love."

He squeezed her gently, "It's not stupid. I want that too."

It was an admission that cracked the strong, independent, wall that Sylar had put up the day Elle broke his heart. Being an evolved human was uniquely difficult. Their existence was secret, and revealing it to a normal was dangerous. It was just as dangerous to connect with someone like them. Elle had proven that, so had West. There was too much risk involved. They had to live in secret, pretend they were regular. Claire and Sylar were doomed to that reality for the foreseeable eternity. Their ability to blend was severely limited. Neither could age, they couldn't settled down and grow old with a family. They would watch their loved ones age and die, staying young. Their prospects for love, real love that didn't judge and that lasted were minimal. It was the price of this adaptation.

Silence stretched, a little mournful at the loss. Sylar shifted closer, their feet tangling beneath the sheets, this was nice. In this moment Claire didn't have to pretend to be a normal girl. She was normal. She was watching a film with a friend who was just like her. _Friend_ might have been a stretch, but this relationship was the closest Claire had come to genuine friendship in a long while.

The comfortable silence was broken by Sylar, his voice rumbling lowly, "Are you wearing a bra?"

Claire snorted and turned her head up to face him. Yeah, Sylar was definitely an average male. His fingers had trailed heat along her side, tracing the contours of her body. Of course he got distracted by her lack of a bra.

"No," she confirmed his suspicions. "Are you going to be okay?"

Sylar nodded slowly, his hand sliding a little higher, "Fine, perfectly fine."

"Are you staring at my boobs," Claire's voice pitched a little higher.

"No," he denied, Claire rolled her eyes as she followed his gaze past her face and towards her chest.

"Perv," she laughed and shoved his chest.

"You enjoy it," Sylar held her tighter.

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><p>AN: 6/25. Gretchen returns, only to leave again. Sylar has a staring problem, not surprising. Let me know what you think, ta!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>07 December, 2009<em>

Monday found Claire waking to the shrill beeping of her alarm. She shivered beneath her covers, struggling to recall if she had set her alarm. No, she realized blearily, the last thing she remembered was blinking heavily watching _Iron Man_, curling closer to Sylar's warmth. _Sylar_. Claire jerked up in bed and looked around the room. He was gone.

Stifling a yawn, Claire appraised her room. She was firmly tucked in, the trash from their movie-day was gone, and Claire's computer was set neatly on her desk. The big, bad, Sylar had cleaned up her room and tucked her into bed. Glancing across the room Claire saw Gretchen's form wrapped under her blankets. Sylar must have left before Gretchen had returned for the night. Claire somehow doubted that the other girl would have let Claire sleep if she had found Sylar in bed with Claire.

Stretching her arms above her head, Claire yawned and slipped out of bed, her feet hitting the plush rug with a little thump. She went about her morning routine without a second thought, she had class early this morning, and, though it puzzled her how Sylar knew, Claire was thankful Sylar had been so thoughtful. That in itself was odd, thinking about Sylar as thoughtful was anything but normal.

Books gathered, hair brushed, warm scarf tied around her neck, Claire set about flipping her covers into a semblance of neatness. The crisp crinkling of paper made the young woman pause and pull back the sheets to find a slightly crumbled piece of paper folded into quarters. Smoothing it open Claire looked at the unfamiliar scrawl. It wasn't messy, it slanted slightly and the letters were angled, almost as if they had been stretched vertically. Sylar, Claire figured.

The letter was brief, awkward sounding. It was a promise of seeing her later that day. Claire refolded the note, the few brief lines already trapped in her mind, before tucking the note into her desk drawer.

* * *

><p>Dropping down into her seat in her biology class Claire watched as her twenty-something peers filtered in, sitting and extracting notebooks and textbooks from satchels and bags.<p>

"Good morning," Professor Sorenson greeted. "Today we will be looking at the consequences of evolution. Darwin posited that: Thus, from the war of nature, from famine and death, the most exalted object which we are capable of conceiving, namely, the production of the higher animals, directly follows. There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being, evolved." He paused, flicking on the projector, the quote glowing into life on the board. "What did Darwin mean?"

Claire breathed, "Evolution is a process brought upon by the questions nature asks. Does the new characteristic have value? Does it represent progress? Will it benefit the species? Darwin believed there was beauty in the ability to change as the world did."

"Precisely, Miss Bennet," the man crowed. "Darwin observed adaptation first hand. Now, imagine you could decide which characteristic you would adopt in order to better your survival chances, consider the questions Miss Bennet put forth."

"Regeneration," one of the boys near the front of the room called. "If we could regenerate skin, fluids, even limbs, we wouldn't face death."

The professor nodded. Claire shook her head, "That would cause more problems than solutions."

"Go on," the professor encouraged, intrigued by the young woman before him.

"Resources are limited. We already fight about oil, beliefs, food. Imagine if you had seven billion people in the world eating, drinking, breathing, and more being born every day. Population increases," Claire finished.

"And what only a small percent of the species acquired that adaptation," the professor suggested.

Claire sat up, her face sad, "Those who adapted would be ostracized. We fear what we don't know. We envy what we don't have." She didn't say what she was really thinking. How lonely it was, how lonely it would be to be alone, forever. Every day Claire lived with this _adaptation_, the light in her life dimmed, but now, the pinprick was getting bigger. She wouldn't be alone forever, she would have him.

The professor nodded, "The unpleasant side of the grandeur that Darwin spoke of. The dangers of the first steps of adaptation, of evolution. The introduction of anything new begets skepticism and fear. Consider cell phones, microwaves, even cars."

Another student frowned, hand raised in the air, "But evolution is necessary, isn't it?"

"Yes," the professor agreed, "however, we must consider that in our history, an admittedly violent and skeptical history, how we have reacted to change. If we condemn adaptations, can we then develop and adaptation of not adapting?"

The room was quiet, it was unthinkable. The professor chuckled softly. "I fear I've become a little excited by the topic."

* * *

><p>As her classmates filtered out of class, Claire hung back as her professor asked. He waved her closer frowning as he did, bracing his hands on the podium. "Your words reminded me greatly of a colleague that I met at a conference, he asked those very questions."<p>

"Oh," Claire swallowed. She hadn't thought about the words being recognized, Chandra Suresh had been cast out of academia for the most part. Mohinder was seen as much the same, a man who had lost sense of reality.

Sorenson licked his lips, "Dr. Suresh was very interested in the next state of human evolution. The ability to fly, become invisible, move things with our minds. It was fantastical, right of the comic books. His theory was…it went a step too far, I think. I think you understand better than he, the problems with society that limit our ability to accept the next step. You might want to consider this paradox for your thesis."

"I'll think about it," Claire nodded. "Thanks." She hurried off, not interested in continuing the conversation, of having to go deeper, not when her own fate was becoming clearer and clearer with each day.

* * *

><p>The door slipped shut with a hollow clang. Claire took a step forward, haltingly took another and another. Her boots clicked on the flagstone floor, the sound echoing loudly. She kept walking, past the busts set on stands, paintings hung on the wall, and the vases set behind glass.<p>

There, near the far wall facing a hazy painting of an orange sun blazing against gray water stood a familiar figure.

"Sylar," she called with a little smile.

"Claire," he didn't turn to face her but the smile was evident in his voice.

So she stepped up beside him, tilting slightly to nudge him, "So feeling like getting your art on?"

"Well," Sylar hedged, "I dabbled, I wasn't a fan of the trances."

"Issac," Claire identified, "you never dabbled before?"

He shook his head, "I never found anything worth drawing."

"And now," Claire pushed.

The dark haired man looked down at the pixie-like blonde, "I don't know, I haven't tried in some time. Maybe we should give it a whirl, what do you say, Claire? Will you model for me?"

She giggled, "Really?"

* * *

><p>"I'm going to kill you," Claire growled, lacking the anger and vehemence of some of her previous threats. Sylar had checked them into a five-star hotel and quickly arranged Claire and his supplies just so.<p>

"You agreed to this," Sylar informed the young woman dispassionately as he leaned around a canvas propped on a tripod.

Claire rolled her eyes and readjusted the sheet she had clutched to her chest, "I thought this would be more clothed."

A small smile slipped onto Sylar's face as he watched Claire. She stood on a chair, her back almost facing him, her head angled to face over her shoulder, eyes watching him draw. Her left hand was curled up against her chest keeping the sheet in place as it draped down her golden skin, the long expanse of her spine uncovered, the swell of her bottom curving to hide beneath the white cloth.

"You're beautiful Claire, you always look beautiful," Sylar set down the charcoal he was sketching with and stepped around the canvas, advancing towards the posing woman.

Claire jumped as he stepped up to her, she steadied herself and glared down at him. He grinned, and under the guise of adjusting her pose, Sylar traced her curves. He was gentle with his touch, fingers skimming along the slender curve of her bicep, the sharp turn of her elbow, the dip of her spine, the rotation of her hips, and the tilt of her head.

She was perfect, golden and strong and warm. She melted under Sylar's touch, her heat warming every inch of him.

He stepped away abruptly, intimately aware of the lines and boundaries he was breaking and pushing. As much as he wanted Claire, Sylar was not going to risk pushing Claire. He returned to the canvas, deliberately picking up the charcoal again and putting it to the paper.

"Hold still," Sylar breathed under his breath, "I'm almost finished."

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><p>AN: 7/25. A bit of fluff here. I figure Claire needed to have some College experiences and a reminder about the importance of connecting with Sylar.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>08 December, 2009<em>

Rocking her hips to the beat Claire walked down the hall, headphones firmly tucked in her ears. Her day had been oddly quiet, the morning had been spent in a chemistry lab, lunch spent writing an essay over lukewarm Mexican food, and her early afternoon picking up a few supplies. Head down, Claire fiddled with the lock on her. She nudged the door open with her hip, backing into the room.

"How did it take me three years to catch you off guard," a voice spoke.

Claire jumped, dropping her plastic grocery bag, ripping the headphones from her ears, and flinging a half-eaten candy cane across the room.

"Holy crap, Sylar, could you not sneak up on people," Claire exclaimed.

Sylar scooted off the end of the bed, scooped up the trashed candy cane and dropped it in the trash. "It isn't technically sneaking if I wasn't attempting to conceal my presence."

"That's not how it works," Claire glared. "And now my candy cane is broken and dirty."

Sylar frowned and picked up the grocery bag, ducking his head has one hand dug through it. "All you bought was candy canes."

"So," Claire pouted, "I like them."

"That can't be healthy," Sylar huffed, extracting a candy cane and extending it to the woman.

Claire scrambled forward, snagging the sweet out of the man's hand. She scurried back, shedding her jacket, scarf and headphones and sliding past Sylar to flop on her bed. "I think my girlish figure can deal with a couple dozen candy canes," Claire snarked, shredding the wrapper and tucking the peppermint stick in her mouth.

Sylar crossed his arms over his chest; legs shoulder width apart, watching Claire. She looked innocent, hair splayed around her head, shirt riding up against taut skin. She was smiling.

"So, wrecking your _girlish_ figure aside what are your plans," Sylar asked, tapping her foot with his.

Her head bounced up, arms behind her propping her upper body up. "Why does that sound like you already have plans for us?"

"Us," Sylar frowned, "who said us?"

Claire stuck her slightly red tongue out, "Fine, I'll just stay here and eat my candy."

"Or," Sylar twisted, "you could come to the mall with me and sit on Santa's lap."

Eyebrows shot up, "Right, and then we could go to jail for being weirdoes."

"Come on," Sylar pushed, "this is our first Christmas together. We need to make some memories."

"Whoa," Claire pointed the sharpened end of her candy cane at him, "Who says we're doing Christmas together?"

Sylar sat down beside Claire, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I thought that was obvious. I'm never going to leave you."

"Mhm," Claire murmured, "and what if I told you I already have plans?"

"Daddy or Mommy," Sylar asked saccharinely.

Claire dropped back to the bed, her breath being forced from her lungs. "I don't know yet. Mom and her boyfriend are going to Vale, Lyle is having way too much fun at school to come home, and I don't think I'm talking to my dad."

Sylar rolled onto his back, one finger tracing over the back of Claire's hand. "So, no definite plans yet, except for me."

Claire's lip curled in annoyance, sucking a little harder on the treat, the tip breaking under the pressure. It had been eight days of relative normality. Eight days where Claire hadn't actually believed that Sylar was going to murder her and leave her body for her roommate to find.

"I'm not making any promises, but my only other option at the moment is staying with Peter, and as much as I love the Petrelli side of my family, I'm not eager to see _grandma_."

Sylar's face creased into a frown. He hadn't considered that Claire would have to leave campus. To be honest, Sylar hadn't had much forethought in this entire venture. His only goal each day was to spend as much time as possible with Claire.

He was too quiet, Claire decided, "Finals started yesterday. I have two essays due, a lab write up, and a test."

"When are you finished," Sylar asked.

"Thursday," Claire sighed. "I just have to study and tweak my last essay. I was kind of putting off making plans until I had to."

The tall man pulled himself into a sitting position, staring down at Claire. "Let's go away then, go to New York, or Chicago, London, anywhere you want. We can have a drama-free Christmas."

Claire studied his face, the shadows, the slight scruff, the spark of hope in his eyes…the hope she saw him try to hide, like she did, hope that things would be okay, that they could be themselves one day. "And what, exactly, would I tell people? Hey, I'm jaunting around the world with a guy who put his fingers in my brain," Claire asked with a snort, teeth flashing as she smiled.

A long finger tapped her nose, "Or, you could say you were going home with your roommate for break."

"There is that," Claire considered the lie.

"Speaking of roommates, where is yours," Sylar wondered.

The blonde shrugged, sucking lazily on the candy cane, "Beats me, she's been all sorts of weird since Thanksgiving."

"Her loss," Sylar winked, "my gain."

Pushing up on her hands, the distance between them shrinking, Claire grinned, "So anywhere?"

"Anywhere," confirmed Sylar.

"Hiro," Claire inquired.

"I was thinking plane tickets," Sylar corrected.

An eyebrow rose, "Mr. Most Wanted wants to get on a plane."

"I'm not half bad at disguises," Sylar smirked, his countenance melting into a very familiar form.

"Peter," Claire asked. "Really? Maybe we should just road-trip to Chicago."

"Twelve hours in a car," Sylar smirked, shifting back to his form. "This could be fun."

"_But_," Claire leaned a little closer, lowering her voice, "if I agree to this, you have to do something for me."

"Anything."

"You spend tomorrow helping me study," Claire told him.

Sylar nodded absently, "Then we plan our trip. If we're going to do this, we're going to do this right, fancy hotel, nice restaurants, a Christmas photo, and tree."

"Deal," Claire smiled. It sounded nice, perfect, like something out of a magazine. It had been so long since Claire had enjoyed the holidays, there had been too much going on, too many lies.

Eight days of cajoling. Claire wasn't unaware of what Sylar was doing. She knew he was fulfilling his promise from all of those months ago. The one he had reiterated only days before. Claire didn't want to be alone. Forever was a daunting concept, Claire wasn't ready to tie herself to Sylar, that kind of forever was just as overwhelming.

She was happy, for the first time in a long time, she felt normal. Leaning up, Claire tilted her head, pressing her lips against Sylar's cheek. He froze under her touch. After a moment Claire pulled back, looking up at him from under her lashes. Watching his mouth drop open just a little and the vein in his neck throb just a little. He didn't move, didn't push.

"Thank you," she told him with a watery smile.

"You're welcome," his voice was soft with confusion.

Inhaling sharply Claire bit her lip before speaking, "I'm not promising anything, but I'll try."

Sylar swelled, his face brightening, "Thank you."

Claire flashed a smile as Sylar engulfed her in a hug, arms twining around her torso, face burrowing into her neck, chest pressed to chest. It was, Claire had to admit, one of the best hugs she had ever experienced. Sylar meant the hug, it was honest. Every breath of the hug was firm and warm and a pleasant attempt to meld two beings into one.

With a laugh they collapsed onto the bed, Sylar's body covering Claire's.

"Uhh," she groaned. "This means I have to pack."

Sylar tightened his grip on the blonde, "If you _really_ need help I could be persuaded to help pack your underwear."

Claire sighed, her smile still fixed on her face, "And we were having such a nice moment."

* * *

><p>AN: 8/25. Having been out of College for a little while I nearly forgot all the fun of having to move out for breaks. Christmas in Chicago for our favorite Couple, stay tuned for shenanigans!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>09 December, 2009<em>

They were back in the hotel room, and Sylar considered for several long moments that this scene wasn't entirely unfamiliar. He had, in his high school years, spent more than a few hours helping pretty blondes study. Although, Sylar conceded, most of those blondes had been using him to do their work for them. Claire was certainly not doing that. He had met her at a diner for breakfast, she was entirely laden down with books and papers and note-cards. She had been anxious to get started, and Sylar had waylaid her urgency until she had at least eaten a few waffles and had a cup of coffee.

"I'm not _bad_ at math," Claire told him as she settled atop the bed, splaying her study aides around her, "I just don't want to get overconfident and then flunk."

Sylar dragged an armchair to the edge of the bed and settled into it, picking up one of Claire's notebooks and scanning the writing. "Probability," he asked in curiousity.

She nodded, picking up her pen and snapping the cap off, "Intro to Mathematical Statistics."

"What happened to calculus," Sylar chuckled, picking up a stack of note-cards and dropping the notebook.

"I took it in high school, AP," Claire informed him.

"Advanced Placement," Sylar sat back in his chair, "I never knew."

"I didn't exactly spread it around, plus I never graduated from high school, I just got my GED."

Sylar smiled, "That's still impressive, Claire."

She sighed heavily, "Not really. My first roommate convinced me I didn't have a plan and I was going to fail, so I let her persuade me into taking this test for an Algebra class, I freaked out and ran. Well, actually I fell asleep and dreamed homeland security agents were trying to capture me. I realized after I left that I had solved the problem. I think I just felt trapped, threatened."

"I can't say I've ever had that dream, naked and giving a speech to the cheerleading team, yes," Sylar chuckled, reaching forward to squeeze Claire's knee in comfort.

"And your distracting me," Claire grumbled, rolling her head back and stretching slightly before straightening, game face on. "Okay, quiz away!"

"Demanding," Sylar muttered. "Classical probability."

"Is used when each outcome in a sample space is equally likely to occur," Claire recited, her eyes rolling back as she recalled the information.

"Equation," Sylar prompted.

Her lower lip found itself tucked between white teeth, before Claire spat out the equation. "The equations are the hard part, I can figure out how to get the answer but I need the context."

"Now who is distracting who," Sylar smirked, "I think you may need a reminder to stay focused." He leaned forward and pulled at the thick hair tie around her wrist, letting it snap back sharply. Claire jerked her hand away at the sensation. "Did I hurt you," he asked, lower lip sticking out mockingly.

"No," Claire grumbled.

It hadn't hurt. It was an odd pressure, but it didn't hurt, nothing hurt her anymore. Six days ago Claire would have told him, quite viciously, that she couldn't feel anything anymore. That it was his fault. It wasn't. Well, Claire at least wasn't going to blame it on him. Instead she was beginning to come around to the idea that she was still evolving. Her ability negated the need for pain. Pain was the body's way of telling the brain that there was danger, without pain there would be no warning to remove a hand from a scalding pan to prevent burning. Claire's evolution would heal any wound or imperfection, so there was no need for pain. The obvious next step would be the elimination of the unnecessary characteristic, and, for Claire, after Sylar's impromptu surgery her body had come to the realization that pain was useless to her.

_No_, was the easy answer, the answer that Claire didn't have to explain or rationalize to Sylar. _No_ was an end to the conversation, she could pretend, that would be easier. So Claire urged Sylar to continue quizzing her, smiling when he rewarded her correct answers with fragments of candy canes and her wandering mind with snaps of the hair tie.

It was a little cute watching Sylar quiz her, his face would furrow in focus as he figured out how to ask the question and then the guarded, hopeful, expression as he waited for her to answer. Claire enjoyed watching him; he seemed unworried, as though this was natural. Claire could almost picture him doing this, a younger him, studying in college.

"Did you ever go to college," she asked softly.

He shook his head, "Trade school, I audited a few seminars, but no."

"Did you want to," Claire asked.

Sylar nodded, threading a hand through his dark hair, "At one point. It just wasn't in the cards. Once I took over the shop I didn't have the time, but I still loved reading, I read everything I could get my hands on."

"Peter said your apartment was filled with books…and jars of things," Claire trailed off.

Sylar let out a breath, "Yes, that was a particularly dark period in my life. My ability drove my desire for knowledge of all things, I devoured books. I wanted to figure out how everything worked. I still do, want to figure it out, but the drive has lessened, or I've learned to control it a little."

Sylar wasn't one to confess the inner workings of his mind, but he was building bridges. Sylar had spent much of his life feeling inadequate, invisible…insignificant. Sylar's ability had driven him to gather powers to make himself visible, powerful, _something _for once. He had considered Claire's power tantamount to invincibility, a golden ticket to success. The moment he activated it thought, his fingers tracking the swirls of her brain it had begun to change.

Sylar had left her high on the new power, breathing exultations of her specialness. When he had come down it had set in, the consequences of his actions. His success was fraught with one big flaw: invincibility truly meant immortality. Sylar had spent so much of his life before the eclipse alone, that the concept of being alone forever was an immeasurable weight pressing down on his chest. That weight had pushed Sylar to seek companionship. Sylar had allowed Angela to pull the wool over his eyes, he had become an agent. When that possibility began to break Sylar let Elle in again, someone who had broken him, tore him down.

Claire was it for Sylar, she always had been. She would be just as alone as he would be, they both lived under the same weight. Sylar was determined to build the bridges that would help lift the weight.

* * *

><p>Books set away, Claire rolled onto her stomach, Sylar laying by her side already tapping away at her laptop. She leaned into him, looking at the screen as he navigated through website after website.<p>

"What about that one," Claire pointed out a tall building pictured against a dark sky.

Sylar shook his head, "Nope, not nice enough."

Claire rolled her eyes. Considering she was living in a shoebox at the moment and her last actual hotel stay had been less a hotel and more a box, Claire was impressed by anything that looked like it had been professionally cleaned. Sylar on the other hand was apparently trying to find the absolute best hotel in Chicago, clearly he was going to attempt to break the bank, or at least get some mileage out of his Midas touch. Not that Claire was going to complain, she didn't mind the idea of being pampered, of exploring a city with someone, and making new memories.

"Suite," Sylar read aloud, "terrace, soaker tub, ice skating on the roof…"

"Mm," Claire moaned, "I do love a good bubble bath."

Sylar lifted his left hand from the computer, moving it around Claire to rest on her side, stroking gently. "I'll wash your back."

Claire smirked and looked at him, "Does that mean I get to wash yours?

He started, his eyes widening a fraction, imperceptible to the observer. Sylar's face relaxed into a smile, "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

><p>AN: 9/25. The next 3 days will be hell for me. We are in the final two weeks before break and I have a million things to prepare on top of several early morning meetings, which I am dreading. Fingers crossed I will be able to get everything out on time. On top of that I think I've talked myself into writing a 12-day Christmas fic for another fandom (on top of this story) starting Sunday. So…you know, this should be a fun time. Hope you enjoyed, ta!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>10 December, 2009<em>

Half of Claire's wardrobe was laid out on her bed. She had spent more time packing and unpacking in the last several years than she had in her whole life. Packing for a trip should have been a piece of cake, although Claire's "help" was being less than helpful with the whole process.

"We could just buy anything we need when we get there," Sylar offered, the prospect of packing a little too much for him.

Claire glared at him as she sorted through a dozen different sweaters, picking her three favorite and placing them in a growing pile of clothes that would inevitably be resorted and skimmed down. "Do you know how long it takes me to find a pair of pants that fit," Claire asked him.

The dark eyed man tilted his head to the side, taking in Claire's very busy form, "Twenty minutes?"

"Hah," Claire huffed, "you are so sweet, and stupid. Try several hours and a trip to the tailor to get them hemmed."

"Seriously," Sylar stared. "Why?"

"Have you seen how tall I am," Claire asked indignantly. "Yeah, they don't make pants for people my size. You have clearly never been shopping for a woman."

Claire was particularly short, she was petite. Standing bare foot she barely came to his shoulders. Claire was the very picture of fragility, which was an utter paradox considering she was unbreakable. He could understand why so many people were drawn to protect her. Peter, Hiro, Ando, Mohinder, Matt, Isaac, Micah, Nathan, the list went on. They had all stood in his way in one way or another on his journey to Claire. Everything had been about saving Claire.

Rising from Claire's desk chair Sylar stepped up behind Claire, her back brushing against his chest as she organized clothing. There was something fascinating about how small she seemed against him. Sylar felt important when he stood by her, sat with her, talked with her. She had this strange ability that made him feel like he was more than just a timepiece repairman.

Leaning back against the warmth of his body Claire grinned. "Decide to be helpful?"

"No," he rumbled slipping one arm around her waist to hug her lightly. "Not unless you've finally decided to let me take charge of the whole thing."

"Not going to happen, ever," Claire informed him, leaning down against his arm to reach for a pile of shirts.

Sylar inhaled sharply as Claire leaned forward, her weight resting against his arm, and her lower half pressing against him. He caught a flash of a smirk on her face. She knew _exactly_ what she was doing. Pulling her back with a tug of his arm, Sylar wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, encasing her in a hug.

"You are going to get yourself into trouble," he growled, his voice the silky darkness of a predator.

She let her weight drop back against him, smiling sharply, "You know that just doesn't have the weight that it used to."

Sylar growled and shifted his grip, sliding one arm down around her knees and with surprising momentum swung her into his arms. She squealed sharply, hands scrabbling for purchase on his arms, shoulders, and chest.

"Sylar," she yelped as he chuckled, watching the multitude of expressions flashed across her face.

Arms bulging against his button up, Sylar lifted Claire a little higher despite her protests before releasing her to fall on the bed. She bounced sharply, limbs flailing as she got her bearings. Claire laughed as the shock wore off. As the laughter faded Claire frowned, all of her hard work had, for the most part, been destroyed.

"You realize that you just added two hours to my packing time," Claire informed him.

Sylar sighed deeply and leaned over Claire, "I think I'll live with it." He flopped down on top of her, arms out. Claire grunted and squirmed as Sylar's solid body landed on her.

"Would it kill you to have a salad, jeeze," Claire grumbled as she tried to push at him. "You weigh a ton."

"And it wouldn't kill you to relax your hyperbolic muscle," Sylar sniped.

Claire moaned in annoyance, her head flopping back against her bed and laundry. Clearly she would not be getting anything done with Sylar in the room.

* * *

><p>After shoving Sylar out of her room with a list of supplies that they needed to get before they set off on a twelve hour road trip, Claire set about finishing her packing. Without the constant distraction the task was actually accomplished fairly quickly. With her duffle packed Claire set about finishing her check-out list.<p>

Gretchen arrived as Claire did her final run through, double checking everything on her side of the room was unplugged and off the floor.

"Hey," Gretchen smiled, waving awkwardly. "Packing to head home?"

Claire nodded, "Yeah, I'm leaving right after my Stats final."

"Oh," Gretchen's face fell, her hopeful smile dropping. "I was kind of hoping we could do one last dinner and a little guitar hero before break."

Her gut reaction was to roll her eyes and snort, instead Claire frowned, "Sorry. I kind of decided last minute yesterday."

"Is your dad coming to pick you up," Gretchen asked, moving over to Claire's bed and dropping down on it, arms stretching across the comforter. Claire hid her frown. She wasn't particularly comfortable with Gretchen's mood swings. One moment she was avoiding Claire the next she was trying to make plans and invading Claire's space.

A shake of the head was Claire's noncommittal answer, "Whoever is available is going to swing by to get me."

If Claire had learned anything from her father and the Company it was that specific lies were sometimes the stupidest lies. A specific lie was easier to prove false. Claire was not interested in having her holiday crashed by any "well-meaning" relative. She had even gotten in touch with Micah who had owed Sylar a favor, and after a little talking the boy had made Claire's phone untraceable. GPS tracking would take searchers in circles and calls would appear to bounce across the entire world. After her final, Claire was going to basically fall off the map.

Lifting her things, so her arms would be full so as to prevent any hugging, Claire gave a little finger wave to Gretchen, "I'll see you after break."

The other girl frowned, "Yeah, keep in touch. I'll be thinking of you."

* * *

><p>Double checking her answers as she pulled on her coat and backpack, Claire nodded to herself. The test had been challenging, but she had studied and she felt confident about her answers. Refolding her test, Claire lifted her duffle bag and made her way to the front of the room. She smiled cheerfully at her professor who congratulated her on her success in the class so far. That small bit of praise made Claire's good mood grow a little brighter.<p>

Claire walked quickly out of the classroom, happy to be done with her first semester of college and ready to have an adventure. Stepping outside, Claire smiled at the crisp winter air. It was a novelty for her. She had spent years and years in Texas, California, cold weather wasn't the norm. Claire was actually really excited about having a white Christmas, real snow and brisk winds.

Skipping down the steps of the building Claire scanned the street for Sylar. He had promised to meet her after her final and they would set off on their trip. She spotted him leaning against a black jeep; he gave a subdued wave and a small smile. A brilliant grin cracked Claire's face, her cheeks reddening. Her steps picked up, but Claire refused to run or even jog. She was not ready for Sylar to see exactly how excited she was.

Sylar took a few long strides and met the blonde, pulling her into an easy hug. To any outside observer they looked like a happy couple. Claire shed the weight of her duffle and backpack, setting them on the ground only to be caught up in a second hug. Sylar lifted her off the ground, his arms around her torso and waist. He spun her around before setting her down.

"Ready," he asked, waiting for the proverbial other-shoe to drop. Sylar was living in a state of disquietude. He was waiting for his hopes to be dashed as they always seemed to be.

Claire nodded, tilting her head slightly into Sylar's hand as he cupped her cheek. "Yeah, I really am." She started as Sylar's face lit up. Claire had actually never seen him smile that genuinely. Glancing down at her feet demurely Claire smiled a little before glancing up, "but if you snore, this whole thing is off."

He rolled his eyes, "_That_ is your deal breaker. Snoring? Of all of my bad habits, you're worried about me snoring."

"Well," Claire tried to be serious, "I can put up your stalking and wine-snobbery, but an eternity of snoring might actually kill me."

She giggled as Sylar shook his head. He huffed and bent down to grab her bags and put them in the jeep, "eternity, huh?"

Claire rolled her eyes as Sylar helped her up into the car, "Shut up." He mimed zipping his lips, the smugness rolling off him in waves.

* * *

><p>AN: 10/25. Almost halfway through! Thank you for all the feedback, it is wonderful. I feel like deep down Sylar desires to experience the same moments that everyone does. He never really had those in his life before the Eclipse, and the moments that came after were lackluster. Claire is his first real romance where he knows the score and she isn't lying to him about how she feels.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>11 December, 2009<em>

"Are you sure that was the right turn," Claire asked, glancing out at the darkened roadway. It was just after midnight and the darkness of night was thick, making the most innocuous roads seem ill-advised.

An hour before had them turning off the highway and taking a series of smaller and smaller roads into more and more abandoned areas. They had stopped at a diner for pie, which was topped off with a cup of coffee. Claire had snatched the keys from Sylar on the way back to the car, he had responded by lunging at her, chasing her to the car.

Now, Sylar was leaning back in the seat, staring at Claire. "Yes," he told her, "I checked the map while you were in the bathroom."

"So where are we," Claire pressed, flipping the heater on a little higher.

Inhaling deeply Sylar sat up. He leaned over the center console towards Claire, resting his chin on her shoulder. He inhaled again, one hand tugging at her hair. "We're in Ohio. In a field."

"Now I see," Claire rolled her eyes. "Okay, so we still have like six hours to go, entertain me."

His eyes closed in thought before flashing open darkly, "I dare you to streak through this field."

Claire jerked away from him, the steering wheel twisting and making the car weave for a moment. "So not happening," she told him sharply. "You can go do whatever you want, but my clothes are staying on."

He fell silent for a moment before tracing the curve of her cheek with his index finger, "I'll do it if you do it."

"That you think _that_ will convince me is concerning," the blonde shook her head in laughter.

"Well, what would convince you," Sylar questioned.

Claire frowned, trying to think of something that would actually convince her to strip down to her birthday suit and run through a corn field. Taking her foot off of the accelerator, Claire let the car slow before beginging to brake. She didn't look at her companion, didn't acknowledge the piercing stare.

Sliding the car into park and turning the car off, Clarie unbuckled her seatbelt. "I'll do it with you, if, and only _if_ you answer any questions I have truthfully for the next four hours."

The dark man grimaced internally, that could get him in trouble, "One hour."

"Three," Claire countered.

"Two and you answer any questions you ask," was his final offer.

Claire frowned, "That isn't how this works."

"Take it or leave it," Sylar began to pull his shirt up, "I know you want to."

Opening the door, Claire slipped out of the car. She turned to face Sylar, finding him shirtless and attempting to discard his belt and wiggle out of his jeans. "No peaking."

Dark eyes rolled, "As if I would want to peak at you."

Claire slammed the car door and started stripping, her shoes and jeans coming off in a flash. Forcing a deep breath down her throat, the young woman shucked her underwear and ripped her shirt off, ducking slightly so that the door covered her nakedness as she undid her bra.

Another car door slammed dully in the night, "Ready, Claire?"

"No," she exhaled, wrapping her arms around her chest, "You first, start running."

"Or," Sylar stepped closer to her and Claire's eyes shot skyward, unprepared to see the man in his full _glory_, "we could do this together, side by side."

He held out his hand and Claire fidgeted, shifting her weight from foot to foot. This was stupid, and with her luck, they would be caught, arrested, and her father would end up having to bail them out. Except, Claire considered, her father would probably end the whole affair with a murder. Bridges. Bridges, she was building bridges. That was what mattered.

She dropped her arms from her chest abruptly, it was better to just get it over with. She met his eyes, and dared him to look down. He didn't, although Claire suspected he had already gotten plenty of a look. Sylar smiled and took her hand, tugging her gently toward the field.

"Here we go," he mumbled.

Groaning Claire squeezed his hand, "Just remember this the next time you want me to do something."

* * *

><p>Claire shivered as they turned back. The whole event had been rather tame. Sylar hadn't made a single lascivious comment, hadn't touched anything but her hands and her face, and hadn't even let his eyes stray. Claire, on the other hand, couldn't quite say the same. She had touched his chest, watched his muscles ripple, and her eyes had definitely strayed.<p>

Tilting her head back, Claire considered that the whole experience had been rather exhilarating. Yes there had been adrenaline, but it wasn't just that. It had been utterly liberating. It reminded her briefly of jumping off the machinery and filming it to prove she was real. Being naked was enthralling. Claire could certainly understand the appeal of feeling so much against her bare skin.

"Here," Sylar lifted her clothes from the ground, "I'll turn around."

Claire shrugged, "It's not like you haven't seen it all."

"I could be a gentleman and deny it," the man offered.

She pushed him and tugged her shirt on, ignoring her bra, "I wouldn't believe you for a minute."

"I wouldn't either," Sylar smirked as he moved around the jeep and scrambled into his own clothes.

As Claire got settled in the driver's seat again she dropped her bra on Sylar's lap, "Put that in the bag behind your seat."

It wasn't the first bra he had ever held, but it was the casual way she had handed it to him that made him stumble a little. "Sure," he finally gritted out, twisting in his seat to do what she wanted.

"So," Claire turned the radio on as she pulled onto the road. "First question, why Sylar?"

"It's a brand of watch," Sylar admitted. "It was one of the first watches I ever repaired on my own. I smashed it the night I killed Chandra Suresh. I was never able to part from it."

A frown graced Claire's pale pink lips, "If you don't want to be a killer, why keep the name that you made for yourself."

"I guess I never felt like Gabriel Gray again," Sylar shrugged. "I used it, every once in a while to lull people into a false sense of security, it just seems like I'm lying if I think of myself as Gabriel."

"I kind of like the name, _Gabriel_," Claire tested the name out. She had known his real name, but she had never had the courage to say it. That might make her torturer human.

The name from her lips sounded right, Sylar decided. It wasn't the cloying desperation of Maya's voice, the sneer of his childhood, the sickening sigh of his mother, or the dismissal of Angela. From Claire it sounded like a promise, soft and sweet, like his name should have sounded all his life.

"You can use it," he offered nonchalantly, "If you want."

"Gabriel," Claire repeated the name, "Maybe."

"Next question," Sylar asked, not wanting to linger on the topic.

Claire hummed, lips pressed together in thought, "First kiss?"

A half smile flashed briefly on Sylar's shadowed face, "I was 13, and I was hanging out in a record store. She was cute, dark pigtails and shiny shoes. I kissed her and ran, I never saw her again."

"Aww," Claire smiled, looking over at the man beside her. "Mine was at 14, with my gay best friend, he didn't know yet. It was just awkward."

"What about your favorite kiss," Sylar asked; knowing full well if she demanded an answer in return he would have to admit it was her kissing him on the cheek.

She sighed, it was unexpected. Then she shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe Alex."

"And who is Alex," Sylar asked, fingers digging in to the "oh shit bar" on the door.

Pushing her sleeves up, Claire gave Sylar a quick glance, "Alex is like us, he has ability. I helped him escape from the Company. He was this really sweet guy who worked in a comic book store. I liked him."

Sylar's gaze swung from the window to her, staring in utter skepticism. "Really," he asked, "you found a comic book geek attractive."

"Yes," Claire nodded. "What did you think I would be dating jocks?"

"Yes."

Claire frowned, "I tried that once, it didn't end well, he still doesn't remember who he is."

Heavy eyebrows rose in interest. The picture of Claire he had painted long ago was beginning to deepen, with each new detail a better version, a better image of _who_ she was rose. The Claire speeding down the empty country highway was anything but the cheerleader he had once believed her to solely be.

* * *

><p>AN: 11/25. I finally got my new glasses…and oh my goodness! I can finally stop playing "is it a spider, or is it a fuzz ball?" Who knew seeing was so awesome (it's been about 8 years since I got a new prescription)? Anywho, tomorrow is Friday, which means I will actually be home from work at a reasonable hour! Thanks for the reviews, drop me another line if you can, Ta!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>12 December, 2009<em>

"So that turn you were certain wasn't wrong," Claire spoke slowly.

Sylar sighed as he turned the steering wheel, "Was wrong."

"Which means that instead of arriving after twelve hours, we took a detour, slept in the car, and are nearly 12 hours behind schedule," Claire clarified as she yawned.

"Yes," Sylar gritted out the word. "On the upside there isn't much traffic."

Another yawn cracked the still of the air, "Yeah, because it is two in the morning."

The traffic in Chicago was actually fairly manageable. The ground was still clear, although the temperature had plummeted as they drove closer to Chicago, winter was beginning to set in.

"We're almost there," Sylar reached over and squeezed Claire's knee, his hand staying there, stroking her pajama clad leg.

Another yawn spilled from Claire as she curled into a tighter ball, leaning closer to Sylar. "I don't want to move," she whined.

Claire was, unsurprisingly, adorable when she was tired. She became excessively cuddly and amenable to just about anything. They had slept in the backseat, curled together, Claire latching onto to Sylar's warmth and invading his space before he could make the first move.

Her protest to moving was noted as Sylar continue driving up Lakeshore Drive, eyes flicking along the bright lights of the skyline. Even in the early hours the city was still lit up, it glowed like a beacon of warmth in the darkness. Claire slipped into sleep before Sylar pulled up to the hotel. He left the car running and handed the keys off to the valet, another man gathering the bags from the trunk. Sylar made his way to the passenger door and maneuvered Claire into his arms, cradling her against his chest so she could continue to sleep.

The doors were held open for him and he passed into the toasty lobby, the lights warm and welcoming against the cool night air.

"Welcome to the Peninsula," the woman at the front desk greeted him quietly, mindful of his burden. "How can I help you?"

"Checking in," Sylar informed her, shifting his hold on Claire so he could extract the credit card and ID that Micah had set up for him. "Gabe Grayson."

The woman smiled at him, fingers tapping sharply against the keys of the computer, "Of course, Mr. Grayson, and this must be Mrs. Grayson, you're all set. I'll have David show you up to the suite, if you need anything at all please let us know."

Sylar gave a reflexive, polite smile to the woman before following a bellhop who was pushing a cart with their luggage on it.

* * *

><p>Sylar nodded in thanks to the kid and handed him a twenty and closing the door, Claire still tightly held against his chest. She stirred, burying her nose against his chest, as the door clicked shut and the lock dropped into place. Taking long strides, the man stroked her side, and moved her to the bedroom. Settling her in the center of the bed, Sylar smoothed down her hair and pulled her shoes off.<p>

Claire shifted, blinking blearily. "Sylar," she rasped, pulling her arms in to her chest.

"I'm here," he whispered, stroking her cheek gently, loving that she leaned in to his touch, not unlike a kitten.

"Are we at the hotel," she asked, eyes sliding closed heavily.

"Yeah," Sylar moved away, swallowing roughly as she keened slightly at the loss of his touch. "Go to sleep, Claire."

"Where are you going," she asked, her words slipping from her tongue lazily, sleep drenching her mind.

"Couch," Sylar told her.

Claire shook her head slowly, reaching blindly for him, "Stay, please."

Sylar was quickly learning he could deny the tiny blonde nothing. He muttered an agreement and slipped away to change his clothing, preparing for bed. He had honestly intended to take the couch, not wanting to pressure Claire into a situation she didn't want. The nights or days they had slept beside each other for any period of time had been initiated by Claire.

Returning to the bedroom clad in loose black pajama pants and nothing else, Sylar slid the covers down, careful not to jostle Claire too much. The man groaned softly as he sank into the mattress, curling against Claire before flicking his fingers to draw the covers over them both. Claire's whole body relaxed against his, making Sylar smile against her hair. Closing his eyes in utter peace, Sylar breathed half of a promise, "Goodnight."

* * *

><p>Claire rolled over, turning away from the sunlight. She frowned as her face met warm, velvety skin peppered with smooth hair. Claire scooted closer, hips shifting forward and legs sliding to against sheets.<p>

"Gabriel," she murmured, arms sliding around his waist. "When did we get here?"

He started at hearing his name from her lips. It sounded natural, gentle. Settling a hand on the dip of her lower back he pulled her closer. "Early this morning, you were out."

"You're warm," she breathed against his skin, "And cuddly."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest making Claire shiver, "For you. Just don't tell anyone, they'll think I'm going soft."

"You kind of are," Claire inhaled and began to yawn, eyes watering slightly. "I think it's kind of nice."

"I'm not nice," Sylar grumbled, hand rubbing circles on her back. "I think you would know that by now, Claire."

"Liar," she smiled against his chest, "you are nice, to me at least, for the most part."

"Don't let your father hear you say that," Sylar rolled onto his back, pulling Claire with him, forcing her to curl up on his chest.

She shook her head lightly, "If my father found out I was talking to you, let alone celebrating Christmas with you it would not end well. He might actually put me in a tower and throw away the key."

"I would rescue you," Sylar told her, "Even if it meant climbing up your hair to do it."

"Couldn't you just fly? Anyway, I somehow doubt you would survive my father, he's kind of crazy when it comes to me," Claire giggled. "Did I ever tell you about the time I babysat myself?"

"How did that go," Sylar asked.

Claire shrugged, wiggling against Sylar, "Well, I think I taught my mother how to take care of me. Also, I really like babies."

"I wouldn't really know," Sylar admitted, "the only baby I have ever really been around was Parkman's kid. He was kind of cute."

"Kind of," Claire raised an eyebrow, lifting her head to peer at the man beneath her. "Clearly you need to spend time with more babies, they are _so_ cute. They're warm and soft and they want love."

"They also scream and cry and poop," Sylar informed the blonde with a snicker.

"Don't be a downer, didn't you ever want kids," Claire asked.

He ran his hands along her sides, her spin, brushing against her bottom slightly, "Once upon a time, maybe, I don't really remember. I've been alone for so long, I was alone for so long that I stopped dreaming about those things."

"Yeah," Claire agreed slowly. "Everything changed when we figured out we had powers. Did you know I used to film my attempts to kill myself?"

"I used to pretend to be a colleague of Dr. Suresh," Sylar admitted. "It was how I got so many people to trust me, to let me in."

"And you didn't attempt that with me, or who you thought was me," Claire wondered.

"I was admittedly rash that night. You were everything I grew up to hate, popular, cheerleader, gorgeous, strong, protected. I wanted you to hurt." Sylar leaned up to press a kiss against her cheek, "You can see how well that worked out for me."

"Can't say I'm sorry," Claire set her head down, pillowing her cheek against Sylar's chest.

"Neither can I."

"Mm," Claire sighed, "I could stay in bed all day."

"Then we will," Sylar told her. "We can stay in, order some food, watch some movies. Anything you want."

"Sounds good, ooh," Claire bit her lip in excitement, "can we have hot chocolate and cuddle all day?"

With a chuckle Sylar rolled them over, trapping Claire beneath his weight. "I think we can arrange that."

* * *

><p>AN: 12/25. Whoo, Friday. I've been looking forward to this all week. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, drop me a note please. Happy Holidays.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>13 December, 2009<em>

Pushing up against the pillow top mattress, Claire twisted in the direction of a shrill beeping. Her phone, it had been abandoned the previous night on the nightstand after a full afternoon of classic movies and sweet treats. Sliding across the bed, Claire strained to reach her phone. The device slipped through her fingers, twisting on the smooth wood of the tabletop, it rang again and Claire grunted as she lunged a little further, dragging it into her reach.

Rolling onto her back Claire sighed as she looked at the name on the screen. Hitting the answer button, Claire set the phone against her ear, "Hello."

"Claire," the always questioning voice of Noah rang. "Where are you? I came by your dorm to pick you up, you weren't there."

Of course he would cut to the chase. Noah rarely had time for subterfuge when he believed in the guilt of his quarry. "I left already."

Noah's sigh crept down the line, "That doesn't answer my question. You aren't spending the holidays with your mother, she thought you were spending it with me, I called Peter and Angela, and you aren't there, so where are you?"

"Imagine that," Claire's eyes fluttered closed in exasperation, "I don't want to spend time with you people, you lie and you hurt me, I want to be alone."

The silence of patented parental disapproval built, "Claire…promise me you aren't going back to the Carnival, promise me."

Pushing herself into a sitting position against the headboard, Claire smiled weakly as she spotted Sylar leaning against the doorway, sipping deeply from a mug. "I promise," she locked eyes with the shirtless man, "I won't go to the Carnival."

"Tell me where you are," Noah pressed. "I just want to know you are safe."

"I am," Claire answered honestly, "I just need to be away, from everything right now. Can you just…respect that?"

It was a plea that Claire hardly believed Noah could or would follow. He had spent her entire life lying to her face. Claire knew that much. She knew it wouldn't change; he was too stuck in his ways to change so easily or so quickly.

"I guess I can do that," came the lie, "just don't shut me out, Claire. I love you, you know that."

"Yeah," Claire swallowed, the lies tickling her ear making her throat clench. "I'll talk to you later, bye."

She hung up, ignoring the protests on the other end of the line. Setting the phone aside, Claire rose from the bed, advanced towards Sylar and looked up at him. "Is that for me," she asked with all the cheek of a woman determined to avoid any unpleasantness or serious talk.

Sylar allowed the sleep mussed woman to sidle up to him and pull the warm mug of coffee from his hands, sipping deeply from it. She settled down onto her heels as the warm liquid bled through her body.

"Problems," Sylar asked, tilting his head towards the phone.

Claire shook her head, "Nope. So what are we going to do today?"

Sylar stepped back, catching Claire's free hand and pulling her out into the sitting room, "Anything you like."

"Rob a bank," she drew out the words, a smile curling her lips with glee.

He laughed, body shaking, "Maybe something a little less exciting would be better."

"You pick," Claire dropped down onto the couch, pulling Sylar down beside her.

"Museum," Sylar suggested, "we are in a city full of culture, or there is the aquarium, the zoo, anything you want."

"Aquarium," Claire asked, holding back her excitement, "do they have cute otters?"

It wasn't the question he was expecting, but Sylar nodded, "They do."

"Yay," Claire took another sip of the coffee. "Can I pet them?"

"No," he shook his head, "I think that might be a terrible idea."

"Why," she pouted, "they are so cute."

Pulling the coffee mug away from Claire, Sylar set it on the coffee table and pulled Claire into his arms. "Somehow I'm against you having something cuddly and cute to hold," Sylar gave her a squeeze, "I'm the only one you get to hold that is cuddly and cute."

She snorted, "Excuse me, did you just call yourself _cuddly_ and _cute_?"

"Yes," Sylar told her seriously.

"And who says I'm going to hold you," Claire teased, frowning playfully.

"I'm not saying it, I'm just really hoping you'll want to, besides, I'm irresistible," Sylar stroked Claire's arm. She giggled, squirming slightly as he leaned down, his lips placing a soft kiss against the pulse of her neck.

He pulled back after a few seconds, peering at her face, waiting for the reaction that would come. As opposed to the spark of anger he feared would appear, she blushed, a pink flush filling her cheeks. The blonde pulled herself from his arms, sitting up and launching herself from the couch.

"Let's go," she grinned, spinning off to the bathroom, leaving Sylar staring after her.

* * *

><p>Bundled up in coats, the pair stepped out of the cab, Claire staring in eagerness at the steps that stretched before her. Happily, Claire reached out and twined her hand with Sylar's hand. She could feel him looking down at her, he wasn't used to this level of comfortableness with anyone. Each day with Claire tested his limits. He wasn't playing at being her boyfriend, or her savior. He was being true to himself.<p>

Claire found the mundane act of standing in line to get tickets rather novel. Sylar stood next to her, hands still clasped, whispering things about the building, the signs, even the people they were surrounded by.

The whole day was rather novel for Claire. They had taken a cab, Sylar had made small talk with the driver and no one had died, literally or of shock. With each experience, each small snippet of normality that teased the future she could have, Claire became more and more convinced of her decision to run away with Sylar. This, of course, was a sentiment that Claire was vehement in believing she would never espouse. She had in fact been quite prolific in threatening Sylar's existence. Except, Sylar wasn't just _Sylar_ anymore, he was so much more, he was Gabriel, the man who was as lonely as she was.

They held hands as they walked through the Shedd Aquarium, both fascinated by the fish and other deep sea creatures. Neither part of the couple could remember enjoying visiting an aquarium quite so much. They were both rather curious creatures, wanting to learn and finding the smallest things fascinating. Claire had stared in wonder at the Jellyfish exhibit, watching them float lazily through the water, lit up by small colored lights that made the spineless creatures seem electric.

"They're beautiful," she murmured, resting her head against Sylar's shoulder. "Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we didn't have powers?"

Her companion was slightly startled by the twist in her train of thought, "No. I know exactly where I would be right now."

"Where," Claire asked, eyes watching the lazy path of the jellies.

Sylar sighed, shifting so he stood behind Claire, arms wrapped around her, dipping down to rest his chin on her shoulder. "I," he breathed in her ear, "would be working my shop, living alone, going about life with no expectations for the future."

"Do you think we would ever have met," Claire asked, relaxing back into Sylar's arms.

Claire watched Sylar's face darken in the reflection of the glass, "I doubt it. Why would our paths ever cross, a cheerleader and a timepiece repairman, it sounds ridiculous."

Heart thudding, Claire pulled away, tugging Sylar towards the next exhibit, an underwater tunnel. "Don't you believe in fate," she asked him, eyes tracking the various fish that swam around them.

"I don't know," Sylar watched her. "What about you, Claire?"

Turning to face him, Claire looked up at him, "I'd like to think there is. It makes everything a little less…futile, I guess."

"So you think that even if we didn't have powers, somehow we would be here, now," he felt vulnerable asking her that.

"I think so," the words were like helium, bubbling up of their own free will. They erupted like a hiccup, they left her throat and stomach feeling empty, shaken. It was an admission that stunned her. "You understand me better than anyone I've ever known," she breathed.

Claire swallowed. Her whole body felt weak, cold. She took another step forward, watching Gabriel tilt his head, eyebrows furrowing slightly at her words. Reaching up, Claire framed his face with her hands, rising up on her toes. Claire pressed her lips to his. Her whole body relaxed into him, his arms coming around her, Claire's eyes fluttered shut as they shared their first kiss.

It was soft and sweet, the gentle press of his lips against hers making her breathing erratic, her hands slid to his shoulders for better purchase to pull herself closer. They held close to each other, lips and bodies pressed together in satisfaction beneath the blue glow of the aquarium tunnel. Sylar smiled into the kiss, their contact breaking as their mingled breaths became small laughs.

Running a hand through Claire's hair Sylar smiled down at her, "If this is fate, I think I might come around to it."

* * *

><p>AN: 13/25. I think one of the most important aspects of Sylaire is that they are both seeking the same thing through different means. They both want to be normal, misunderstanding what normal is. Thank you for all of the lovely reviews, Happy Holidays!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>13 December, 2009<em>

"It's snowing," Claire whispered in amazement.

Gabriel laughed from doorway to the patio, enjoying the view of Claire staring up at the sky as millions of tiny white flakes drifted out of the sky. Claire had shaken him awake with excitement, racing out the doors to spin around on the snow coated patio tile.

"Careful," he said the word not as a scolding but as a reminder that she was precious, that it would hurt him to see her hurt.

"It's snow," Claire cried, green eyes flashing brightly in the early morning darkness. "We're going to have a white Christmas! I've never had one of those."

"You had better come inside before you freeze," Gabriel laughed, extending his hand to Claire.

She danced away from him, bare feet sliding along the slippery floor. "I once broke my foot off because it was frozen, it grew back," Claire laughed in defiance. "They're so tiny."

Scowling, Sylar stepped outside, and in three large steps caught Claire up in his arms, cradling her. "It would serve you right if you got sick," he shook his head, as she wriggled in his grasp, desperate to be free.

Sylar dumped her onto the bed; she bounced but was quickly pressed against he covers by his body. He exhaled slowly, enjoying the feel of her body beneath his, feeling the warmth return to her skin. Claire had apparently lost her senses because she had run out into the cold in little else but tiny shorts and a tank top.

"You are crazy," Sylar spoke into her hair, "the next time you go running off half-clothed I'm going to lock you up for your own good."

Claire snorted, wrapping her arms around Sylar, "You could try."

"Are you insinuating I would fail," he leaned up on his elbows, staring down at her face.

A sly smile caught Claire's lips, "I didn't say it, you did."

"Want to bet," he leaned down and caught Claire's lips in a kiss.

As he pulled back, Claire followed him, refusing to let their lips part. One hand slipped around his neck to keep them together, Claire moaned as Gabriel nipped at her lips. Each breath became a little shakier, a little warmer.

"So this is new," Sylar murmured against her lips. "We do this now."

"Are you really trying to have a conversation about us kissing when you could just be kissing me," Claire asked head falling back in disbelief. "You are really different from most guys."

"I haven't really done _this_ before," Sylar rolled off of her, staring up at the ceiling.

Claire flopped back beside him, "And your instincts said 'let's talk about this' rather than kissing me senseless?"

"If I kiss you again will you shut up," Sylar asked, trying to avoid the ribbing.

"Maybe," Claire offered, "as long as you don't start talking about how we kiss now."

Sylar twisted to lay on his side, watching her, "You have to admit this isn't where you expected you would be."

"In Chicago?"

A shake of the head, "Try lying in bed with the man who tried to kill you?"

Claire sighed loudly, "Well, when you put it that way…Look, do you want me to say it? You were right!" He gave her a blank look. "We're going to outlast everyone we know, it's either forgive and learn to forget, or be lonely for a very long time."

"It doesn't frighten you that fourteen days ago you ran away from me," he asked in a rush of words.

"Fourteen days ago," Claire breathed, "I was seriously considering going back to the Carnival, even though I knew Samuel was a bad man. I kind of like his dream, it seemed peaceful. You know, except for the murderous aspect."

"So you're okay with kissing me," Sylar asked.

"Oh my god," Claire groaned, before pushing herself up and straddling Sylar's waist, pushing him back against the bed and leaning down to kiss him roughly. "Just shut up," she growled against his lips. Running her hands through his hair, Claire tugged his head back slightly so she could run her lips down his jaw, teeth scraping roughly against his throat.

Long fingers dragged up her thighs before pressing against her hips, pulling her down against him. "Claire," his voice was gravelly, the calm, softness gone.

Her lips broke away from his skin, "If you are about to stop what's happening, I swear I will kill you."

The fingers on her hip tightened, digging into firm muscle, making Claire inhale sharply at the sensation. The pressure felt nice. A hand slid into her hair, tangling with the blonde waves, urging Claire's head back up to Sylar's mouth. She smirked and let him guide her back to kissing him. He was starting to catch on to the whole not talking thing.

* * *

><p>"Zip me up," Claire asked as she stood in the mirror.<p>

Sylar stepped up behind Claire, admiring the sweep of her spine as it dipped beneath the dark blue fabric. "You look lovely," he pressed a kiss behind her ear as he slid the stiff zipper up.

"You look nice too," Claire smiled at the mirror, watching him straighten his hair and collar.

"Well," Sylar settled his hands on Claire's hips, "If this is going to be our first date, I want it to be one we remember."

"First date," the young woman asked, leaning to the side so she could look up at her apparent date. "Did you forget to ask me something?"

"Apparently I did," Sylar grinned, "so let me rectify that. Claire, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?"

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose that could be arranged," Claire grinned. "But don't make this a habit."

"I like being spontaneous," Sylar pouted, eyes darkening in anticipation of a little tiff.

Claire shook her head as she pulled her hair into an up-do, pinning it in place with a hum of satisfaction. "Spontaneous is asking me something on when you think of it, not planning something and then dragging me along with you."

A long finger trailed down the nape of her neck, "How do you do that?"

"What," Claire asked, gooseflesh rising along neck, "put you down with one careful sentence?"

"No," Sylar grinned, replacing his finger with his lips, pressing small kisses along the warm skin of her neck and shoulders. "How do you put your hair up like that?"

"Seriously, that's what you are so interested in? It's practice," Claire informed him, amused by his fascination.

A particularly warm breath between her shoulder blades had Claire squirming, shoulders pulling back, hips twisting at the sensation. Firm hands caught her hips and held them still as the zipper slid down and Sylar's lips followed it.

"Okay," Claire gasped, knees locking as her hands gripped the bathroom counter, "_that_ is really not fair."

The breathless admission caused the man laving kisses on Claire's spine to chuckle. The sound was pure sin, making her whole body clench in desire, her head fell back and her feet shifted. Sylar held her hips firmly; Claire squirmed ineffectively, in agony.

"Gabriel," was the moan that slipped past Claire's red painted lips.

"Yes, Claire," came the slow, warm voice from just above the base of her spine.

"We're going to be late," she struggled to keep her voice level.

"Mm," the noise was a vibration against Claire's spine, making her jump, "that would be a crime."

"If this is your idea of a perfect first date," Claire forced herself to frown, "this will definitely be the last."

The reaction was instantaneous, Sylar stood, sliding the zipper up with a swiftness that revealed the truth of his feelings. Pressing a final kiss to the nape of Claire's neck he spun her around, "Ready to go?"

"Yes."

Sylar pressed one last chaste kiss to her lips before extending his arm to Claire, "I am really looking forward to tonight, Claire."

The blonde watched him from beneath darkened lashes, the genuine smile on his face, the white button up that was undone at the neck, and the black slacks spoke of a man who was confident, happy. It was very attractive.

Offering him a red smile, Claire curled her arm around his, pulling herself close to his body. She was looking forward to their date as well.

* * *

><p>AN: 14/25. The next three days are going to be hectic. I'll be doing some frantic work before break. Hopefully I'll manage to keep writing everything on time, but if not I will catch up. Happy Holidays!


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>15 December, 2009<em>

"You've got to be kidding me," Claire stared up in disbelief at her companion. "I can't believe you've never built a snowman!"

"Well, not a proper one at least," Sylar conceded. "I made one in an alley once, it wasn't very pretty and I'm pretty sure I ended up using a hypodermic needle as a nose."

"Creepy," Claire considered the potential snowman. "We need to change this, we're building a snowman today!"

"I don't know," Sylar waffled, not ready to show how excited the idea actually made him.

"Please," Claire begged, "I've never made one either. The closest we ever got was Sandmen."

"What," he laughed.

"We made snowmen out of sand at the beach," Claire elaborated, if a little reluctantly.

Sylar watched Claire's cheeks flush, the pink tint rising and spreading beneath her skin. Claire glanced away, eyes tracing the traffic streaming along the road. She could feel Sylar's gaze on her, and his hand squeezing hers. They had decided to spend the day exploring Chicago, Sylar requesting they visit Millennium Park, so Claire had bundled up in a hat and scarf and her thickest coat. Sylar had, like much of his wardrobe, seemed to pull a black wool coat out of nowhere and dragged her outdoors.

A soft whir and click made Claire turn to glare at Sylar. He held a camera up to his face, no doubt using his telekinesis to manipulate the various knobs and settings as he snapped a picture of her.

"Really," she frowned, "do you have to do that?"

"Yes," Sylar intoned seriously, "I want us to have memories."

"But a camera," Claire whined. "You're going to make us be one of those couples that document _everything_, even sickeningly sweet moments like kissing beneath the mistletoe."

"Ooh, not a bad idea," Sylar snapped another picture before moving the camera away from his face and planting a kiss on Claire's lips. She pulled away as another click echoed.

"_You_ are terrible," Claire smiled and leaned up to kiss him.

Her hands rose to clutch at the lapels of his jacket, kissing him firmly before pulling away, and skipping off down the street, slipping between the crowds of people.

"Claire," Sylar called, voice light as his tall form dodged and weaved in pursuit of her. "When I catch you, you will be in so much trouble."

She giggled, the high sound of her voice echoing above the low din of the crowd, "Bet you can't."

Claire slowed, standing still in the flood of people. She watched the smiling man move towards her, the shadows of his face diminished in the joy of the moment. In a few short seconds he was in front of her, arms encircling her, lifting her into his arms and spinning before setting her back down.

"Gotcha," he muttered into her ear.

"Because I _let_ you," Claire hugged him tightly, arms draped around his neck.

Sylar leaned back, face unreadable, "Let me? You let me? What else have you been _letting_ me do?"

"Well," Claire breathed, walking backwards, Sylar keeping her from slipping or falling as he followed. "I _let_ you take me to dinner last night."

Sylar nodded seriously, "And I'm sure you _let _me kiss every inch of your back last night, and you let me feed you tiramisu, and you _let_ me carry you upstairs?"

"Oh definitely," Claire's blush deepened, "except for all of that."

"So I get to play the villain," Sylar asked darkly, voice lowering and eyes darkening.

Claire's lower lip slipped beneath her teeth, her breath quickening and pupils dilating at the words. "No," her voice was faint."

"Hm, only a half-lie," Sylar leaned down to nip at her ear, nudging her hair and hat out of the way.

* * *

><p>Claire held Sylar's hand in hers, as they stood beneath the curved sculpture. Both of them were looking up at the reflective surface, and couldn't help but smile a little more at their own reflections. The sky and the people melded together and shifted with each sway and glint of light, it was an interesting sculpture to be sure. While it looked like a bean, Sylar had informed her rather smartly that it was actually called "Cloud Gate" not its typical misnomer. Claire had shoved him for that little lesson.<p>

As the crowds shifted and cleared, Sylar had demanded they lay down at the very center of the sculpture to take a photograph of their stainless steel reflection. They lay on their sides, facing each other, lips pressed gently together. Sylar had actually demanded a whole series of photographs in various poses and with various settings.

With her patience almost run dry, Claire rolled to her feet and took off away from the hub of light and towards the open stretch of snowy ground. Already covered in snow, the blonde dropped to her knees and began to shape a perfect ball of snow in her hands. When Sylar stepped up beside her, he frowned, watching her work. Slowly, methodically, with untested skill, Claire began to roll her snowball around the ground, picking up more and more snow with each pass on the ground.

"Are you going to help," Claire twisted to look up at him, "I'm not doing this alone."

The dark haired man shifted slightly, one hand slipping free of his pocket, and two fingers twitched. A flurry of snow stirred in response to the gesture, Claire's shoulders dropped and she shook her head slightly.

"No powers," she told him sternly, "this isn't about powers, this about doing it ourselves, like normal kids."

Lowering himself to his knees with a slight wince at the chill, Sylar sighed heavily, "We're not kids."

"Yeah well I say we revel in the childishness because we kind of got ripped in the holiday category," Claire argued lightly. "So, either help me build a snowman or leave me alone so I can build one."

"Alright," Sylar dug his hands into the snow, mimicking Claire's process.

Together, and perhaps with a little antagonizing, the pair managed to assemble a slightly lopsided snowman that boasted a slightly crooked carrot nose, stick arms, gumdrop eyes, and a licorice smile. The amalgamated creature had also taken ownership of Claire's hat and Sylar's black scarf.

As they stood back to admire their work the camera came out again, and Sylar forced them to stand beside the snowman, a helpful stranger being persuaded to take their photo.

"Okay," the cold air settled deeply in her lungs, leaving a pleasant ache in Claire's chest at the sensation.

"Okay," Sylar repeated, "what now?"

Claire stretched slightly and let out a yawn, "How about a nap?"

"I could be persuaded," he took her gloved hand, swinging their linked arms as they began to walk out of the park. "Of course we still have a lot to do to prepare for Christmas."

"Like what," Claire asked curiously.

"Decorations, presents, a holiday photo," Sylar listed, "eggnog, caroling…everything."

Pale eyebrows rose at the excited rambling, "How about we focus on the nap and then we can worry about everything else?"

"Fine," Sylar pretended to pout, "but after can we bake cookies?"

"And I'm dating a three year-old," Claire exclaimed sourly.

Sylar nudged her sharply, forcing her to sidestep, "But you love it."

"No comment," Claire shoved him right back and kept on walking, dragging Sylar along with her, willing as he may be.

* * *

><p>AN: 15/25. Whoo, I am exhausted. I am counting down the days until the weekend. Leave a message, please! Happy Holidays.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>16 December, 2009<em>

Wednesday found the gourmet kitchen, typically left untouched by guests, in chaos. The current occupants had taken full command of the facilities. Claire had managed to dissuade Sylar from making cookies the night before, convincing him that he absolutely needed to see the _Nightmare Before Christmas_. With a few well placed kisses and a coy smile, Claire had the much bigger man curled next to her on the couch like a kitten. Sylar had not particularly taken to that sentiment and had smacked her rather firmly on the behind in retaliation.

Sylar, being a very stubborn man, had only been dissuaded for so long. He had woken her and forced her to eat breakfast in bed, although forced might be a strong word. Claire had tucked in with vigor, and smacked away Sylar's hand each time he attempted to take possession of the fork and feed her. On the surface it was a very sweet gesture, what girl didn't want breakfast in bed, however, Sylar had quickly unmasked the deed by trying to force feed her so he could drag her grocery shopping.

Claire, being a former cheerleader actually had quite the baking repertoire. Sylar, on the other hand, as expected, lacked any sort of repertoire. He _had_ recited a recipe from memory, or from a book, and demanded they make it. The whole affair led Claire to a series of more and more frustrating discussions about the merits of name brand or generic ingredients, flour types, and butter disputes.

The kitchen was just as much as a mess as their whole shopping trip. Sylar for all his skill had managed to nearly blow up the mixer, and splattered Claire with a heavy dose of flour and butter. So she had sat back and let him attempt to sort the whole mess out.

"What did I do," Sylar asked in desperation, the dough cracking and dry in his hands.

Sitting cross-legged on the counter Claire sighed and peered curiously at the dough. "Not enough liquid," Claire guessed, "didn't combine very well, forgot something, followed the directions perfectly, it's a toss-up."

Sylar dropped the dough with a clunk, "What do you mean followed the directions perfectly, how can that mess up a recipe!"

One hand swiped at her cheek, leaving a larger streak of flour than it had removed. Sighing in frustration Claire shrugged at Sylar, "Baking isn't a science, as much as people say it is, it isn't. Sometimes following every step perfectly doesn't work, you need to use your intuition."

"So what do I do," Sylar demanded, resting his messy hands on Claire's bare knees, leaning forward to brush his nose against hers.

"More butter," Claire decided with a yawn, "I need a bath."

"No," Sylar exclaimed, eyebrows rising in alarm as Claire made to move from her position on the counter, "you can't leave me alone."

"Can, will, am," Claire smirked and scooted backwards away from him. Sylar scrambled to reach her, he missed and ended up dodging around the island to catch her around the waist and drag her off the counter, swinging her around lightly.

"No," he purred against her neck, teeth sinking sharply into the tender skin of her neck.

She twisted sharply, forcing Sylar to drop her to her feet, she spun and shoved him, a puff of flour rising from his shirt as she did. "Jeeze, you made a mess," Claire snorted.

"No thanks to you," he glared.

"Look," Claire smiled tightly and rested her hands on his shoulders, "there are some things in life that can't be learned from a book, they have to be experienced, okay?"

"Fine," Sylar exhaled dramatically,removing Claire's hands from his shoulder and spinning her around. "Go have your shower," he ordered, giving her a pat on the butt to spur her on.

"Hey," she squeaked indignantly before walking off, "just for that, I'm going to take a bath, and when you finish being messy you can come massage my neck."

"Oh can I," Sylar muttered under his breath as she disappeared.

* * *

><p>The tub was a work of art, Claire decided after sinking into the steaming water and relaxing back against the curve of the tub. There were jets too, jets that the blonde had gleefully twisted on and dumped a good measure of vanilla bubble bath into the water. She was admittedly moaning in relief. Although Claire didn't actually feel the wear and tear that each day wrought on the human body, that didn't lessen the pleasure she felt in this sort of activity.<p>

Twisting so that she was submerged up to her neck, Claire closed her eyes and let the gentle gurgling sound and tickling pressure against her skin lull her into a state of meditation. The occasional curse made her jolt. Apparently Sylar was still battling the good fight against sugar cookie dough. It was actually fairly cute. Sylar was childlike in some respects. Claire supposed that came from a lack of a happy or full childhood. Sylar had let slip enough about growing up that she had come to some conclusions about what had made him who he had become.

Somewhere in between humming a seventh nameless tune, Sylar slipped into the bathroom and perched on the edge of the tub. Claire cracked one eye open and watched him dip one hand into the still steaming water, letting her eye close, Claire focused on the sensation of the water lapping against her skin, and then a hint of a brush of skin against skin.

Sighing and shifting, Claire looked up lazily at him, "Cookies cooking?"

"Yes," Sylar breathed, arm dipping deeper into the water to skim along Claire's thigh, her knee, her calf, her ankle.

Biting back a weak moan, Claire allowed Sylar to lift her right leg from the water, his fingers and knuckles kneading the muscles gently, carefully. "And will these cookies kill us," Claire exhaled as he hit a particularly pleasurable spot on the back of her knee.

Sylar shrugged, his attention thoroughly split, "Let's just be glad neither of us is susceptible to food poisoning." Claire moaned at his ministrations, her whole body sinking a little in the water, "It would be your fault anyway."

"What," Claire jerked, hands pushing at the bottom of the tub to push herself into a sitting position. "How is it my fault?"

"I don't know if it has escaped your notice," Sylar set her leg back in the water, hands moving to cup her face, "but you are _very_ distracting, Ms. Bennet."

"Still not seeing how this is my fault."

"The thought of you, in here, naked, writhing," Sylar's words rumbled in the air, making Claire relax back.

"Fair point," she sank beneath the surface of the water in a guise of protection.

"More than fair," Sylar ran his wet hand through Claire's hair, "you are a merciless tease, torturing me so I'll do exactly what you want."

"And what do I want," Claire asked, unsure of the answer herself.

"Me, on your terms," Sylar told her, "but that's not how this goes."

She shuddered under the weight of his stare, the implication of his words.

* * *

><p>AN: 16/25. I keep thinking about all of Sylar's book knowledge and is total lack of applicable skills, this is the result. Happy Holidays!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

_17 December, 2009_

* * *

><p>"You're kidding," the blonde snorted, "you actually ordered a Christmas tree! Can you even do that?"<p>

"Well I did," Sylar informed her bluntly. "The concierge was very helpful. He even arranged to find us some decorations."

"It's just so ridiculous," Claire curled up on her stomach in front of a crackling orange and red fire. "This whole thing, trip, whatever, is ridiculous."

She was right. Sylar had booked the penthouse suite in a five-star hotel in the center of Chicago. Everything was opulent, the service was astounding. It was the kind of vacation that Claire always dreamed about, upon the revelation that she was actually a Petrelli, Claire's dream became more feasible and impossible all in one step. She got to live small aspects of the upper-class life, but she was barred from truly enjoying it. The illegitimate daughter of a politician was _not_ embraced heartily and offered everything on a platter.

It wasn't that Claire had grown up wanting. Growing up in the Bennet household had been more than adequate. Claire had wanted for nothing, she may not have gotten everything she wanted, but she had more than she needed. They took family trips, she _did_ get a car, she had mounds of clothing and shoes, and Claire had amassed a sizeable collection of teddy-bears from around the world.

_This,_ however, truly being a part of the upper-crust, was a new experience. Not once had Claire felt like the illegitimate child who was best kept out of sight. The staff had spoken to her as if she were an adult, and, Claire had to remind herself, she was.

"It's nice," Sylar agreed. "When I was kid we had this little plastic tree that was painted white, and the ornaments were from the gas station, it never really felt the like the Christmases I saw on TV."

"Nothing is like it is on the TV," Claire informed him. "Trust me, I have a bounty of examples."

"Any standouts," the dark haired man yawned from the couch, sipping a cup of coffee slowly.

"Being homecoming queen," Claire offered. "I'm pretty sure that was supposed to be a magical moment, not so much. I was honestly shocked no one dumped pig's blood on me."

"Weak."

Claire rolled on her back, stretching lazily on the soft rug. "Well," the blonde considered, "all of my previous boyfriends have been jerks."

"That's actually what is shown on TV," Sylar refuted.

The fire popped loudly as Claire considered her life. "My real mother took money from my real dad and lied to me about him not wanting to meet me. Aren't family reunions supposed to be all happy tears?"

"I'll give you that," the coffee cup hit the table with a click. "Families on TV shows are lies."

"Wouldn't it be nice if they weren't," Claire lifted her legs into the air, letting them fall over her head, nearly touching the ground above her head.

"Maybe," Sylar stood up so he could lay down beside Claire. "But imagine how weird that would be."

"True," she relaxed her body, legs falling back to the carpet. "I spent fifteen years thinking I had the perfect family, it was _so_ creepy."

Sylar raised an eyebrow, curling up to Claire and pressing his lips to her cheek, a tender gesture of comfort. "So I've convinced you that a tree is the perfect thing," he dropped a hand on her stomach, thumb stroking slowly along the firm flesh, making her squirm a little.

"I don't know if _convinced_ is the right word," Claire turned her head so she was nose to nose with Sylar.

"It's happening," Sylar told her with a peck to her lips.

* * *

><p>The door swung open smoothly revealing a tall, young man who smiled politely and explained he was there to help install their tree.<p>

"Come on in," Claire smiled bemused. "We cleared a spot in the living room."

"Of course," the man stepped inside, ushering Claire away from the door so the tree could be carried in. "This is a beautiful tree, I'm sure you will love it."

"Thanks," Claire sputtered unsure of quite how to respond.

The man nodded, smiling broadly, "And how are you enjoying your stay, Miss?"

"It's nice. Really nice."

"Wonderful," a hand pressed gently against Claire's lower back, "if there is _anything_ I can do to make your stay better, I will _personally_ see to it."

Claire wasn't quite sure how to respond so she just smiled tightly and nodded, stepping out of the man's reach.

"There you are, Sweetheart," Sylar's low voice wrapped around Claire, quickly followed by Sylar's arm as he leant down and pressed a searing kiss to her mouth. It was a demanding kiss, Claire whimpered as he took control of her mouth, she slipped a hand up to curl at the nape of his neck reflexively, grateful that one of his arms was cradling her and keeping her upright.

He pulled away languidly, pressing a lazy kiss to her temple, his gaze locked on the man who had been flirting unsuccessfully with Claire. Glancing back down, he pulled her into his side. Claire looked up at him, her arm tightening around his waist in silent thanks, "The tree is here, we'll get to decorate it tonight."

"That we will," Sylar smiled easily, "hey, thanks, kid." It was a clear dismissal of the interloper, and if that wasn't clear enough, Sylar turned Claire around and ushered her back into the heart of the suite.

When they had settled into the living room with two men securing the tree, Claire snuggled further into Sylar's side, "Thanks."

"You're my girl," Sylar gave her his explanation.

Claire sighed deeply as she relaxed, completely comfortable lying in Sylar's arms as Christmas began to come alive thirty stories about the snow-covered ground. "So what kind of decorations do you want," she asked curiously.

"I don't know, just no snowglobes," Sylar chuckled, shifting a little lower on the couch. "Those little beads on a string?"

"Garland," Claire told him, "what about lights?"

"I always like the white ones," Sylar admitted, "they always seemed less garish."

"Me too, they're less commercial."

"Glass ornaments or all different ones," Sylar asked.

Claire rested her head against his chest, enjoying the sound of his steady heartbeat as it soothed her, "Mostly glass, silver and red."

"Sounds nice," Sylar used his arm to pull Claire a little closer.

The pair sat looking at the tree, the men setting it up quickly disappearing, leaving the couple alone. Sylar and Claire whispered quietly about all of their plans and imaginings of their first Christmas together. They were very aware that this was their chance to make up for the bad memories and lackluster experiences, both Claire and Sylar were ready to seize the chance.

* * *

><p>AN: 17/25. We are winding up and down. Two days of work left! I am psyched. Happy Holidays all.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

* * *

><p><em>18 December, 2009<em>

The tree was decorated, and Sylar was settling dozens of perfectly wrapped presents under the tree. Claire had already wrapped hers and hidden them away. She was still a fan of the Christmas morning surprise. The best part of Christmas had always been the big reveal in the morning, despite Claire's refusal to put her gifts to Sylar under the tree, it looked more and more like Christmas with each adjustment to the arrangement.

Sylar stood up and stepped back to look at the tree, "There we go."

The lights flicked off courtesy of Sylar and his telekinesis, the room bathed in the warm light of the Christmas tree. Claire snuggled a little further beneath her blankets, "Perfect."

"You think," Sylar's voice was oddly eager, he knelt on the couch beside her, "is it missing something?"

"No," Claire told him, "all we need to do is take a photo in front of it."

The very thought of their Christmas "family" photo was enough to make the man jump up from the couch and rush back into the bedroom. Claire laughed lightly before reaching for her laptop and flipping the screen up. Claire flipped through her emails, and checked her grades, before a bright green notification popped up on the corner of her screen. Clicking the notification her video-call sparked to life, and momentarily, Peter's face filled the screen.

"Where are you," he asked immediately. "Noah called, repeatedly asking if you had talked to me."

"How are you, Claire? I'm good, Peter, how are you," Claire said pointedly. "I'm fine, Peter, I decided to go have Christmas on my own."

"Why," Peter asked, "you could have come stayed with me."

Claire shook her head, "No, because if I did Angela would be there to breath down my neck."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, "but we could have gone away, maybe Paris."

"Paris," the blonde watched the sly grin take over man's long face. "What brings Paris to mind?"

"I thought maybe we could fly up to the top of the Eiffel Tower and watch the fireworks," the words slipped from his tongue slowly, in the lazy way Peter always seemed to talk.

"Maybe next year, I'm actually enjoying my Christmas break," Claire told him with a smirk.

"All alone," Peter clarified. "Must be some place if you're happy being all alone."

A low chuckled made Claire look up, a smile slipping onto her face at the sight of Sylar, camera in hand. She glanced down; Peter's eyebrows were in his hair they were so high. There it was, the space between the rock and the hard place. "Alone," Peter repeated, "sounds _lonely_."

"Yes," Claire offered weakly, "alone."

Peter frowned, Claire could practically see him crossing his arms and doing a fair impression of Noah. "Turn the computer around, Claire," Peter demanded flatly.

"Um, no," Claire rejected.

"Yes," Peter ordered. "You have a man in that room, where are you?"

"A hotel," Claire's voice hit a high note.

Peter cleared his throat disapprovingly, "A hotel, Claire, did you pick up a hooker?"

"No," she declared in utter horror. "What the hell, Peter, why would you say that?"

"Well what else could you possibly be hiding," Peter asked, "we're a fairly accepting family, there's really not much that hasn't been done or seen, hookers are at least slightly shameful, although Nathan never really got that memo."

"And too much information," Claire gagged slightly at that news, "why would you tell me that?"

"I told you we lack shame," Peter smirked, "it might be genetic, so you have that to look forward to."

"It's not a hooker," Claire snarled, "_He_, he is not a hooker." Claire's attention was caught by Sylar who flashed a saucy smirk, waggled his eyebrows and began to tug off his shirt. "Oh my god," Claire breathed in shock.

"What," Peter demanded, a shock of hair flopping into his eyes, "what's wrong?"

She gulped, eyes wide, "Nothing." It was a squeak of a noise as Sylar's belt hit the floor with a soft clink and thunk. Her tongue slipped between her lips to dampen them, her pupils dilated sharply as her attention was entirely riveted on Sylar's little striptease.

"Claire, Claire," Peter repeated her name, trying to grab her attention and failing miserably.

A hand threaded through dark hair as Sylar popped the button on his jeans and the zipper slid down. The whole scene was trouble. Claire was frozen watching him, Sylar looked good, all firm muscle and smooth movements.

Peter breathed heavily through his nose, "Claire!"

"What," she shook her head, "oh, um, I have to go."

"No," her Uncle yelled, "tell me write now who he is, or I'll set…Parkman and Hiro and, and everyone on you!"

"He's a friend, okay," Claire told Peter, "he asked me to spend a little time with him, and I agreed, okay?"

"Claire," Peter breathed, "you're all I have left, who are you with?"

"Someone who cares about me," Claire spoke softly, "and that should be enough for now. I'll talk to you later, Peter, Merry Christmas."

Claire shut the computer right as it was pulled out of her hands and dropped onto the couch beside her.

"You're wrong," Sylar was frank as he pulled Claire up off the couch, "I don't care about you." Claire's lungs itched as her breath caught in her lungs. "Claire, it should be obvious, you _should_ know that I _love_ you."

The confession hung in the air, it wasn't unexpected, but it was startling nonetheless. Sylar and Claire were both cut from a worn and torn cloth. Neither of them were capable of trusting fully, they were building a trust between themselves, but for Sylar to bare his heart so bluntly was unforeseen.

Claire swallowed before wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face to his chest, "I ca—"

"You don't have to say anything," Sylar cut her off, long fingers stroking through her hair, "you just need to know."

Claire's eyes slipped closed and every ounce of apprehension drained from her body, "Thank you." She shifted her arms, squeezing a little tighter, "I know that sounds stupid, but it means a lot to hear that and know you mean it."

"I will always mean it," Sylar bowed his head, pressing his lips to the crown of her head, "I have no reason to lie to you, I never have, all I need is you, even if…even if you never love me, as long as you let me be near you, that's all I need."

Small prickles stung Claire's eyes and her throat tightened sorely, she gasped soundlessly at the sensations. She was crying. It was a stupid revelation, clearly she was crying, but it was surprising.

Claire wasn't sure she would ever love Sylar, but she did know she needed him just as much as he needed her. She tightened their embrace, the words sticking in her throat, tiny rivulets of tears tipped down her cheeks. She wanted to say something, to tell Sylar she wasn't a lost cause, that maybe one day she might love him. That she wanted to try at the very least. She couldn't, all she could do was hold him and let her hold him in turn.

* * *

><p>AN: 18/25. I think that Sylar is a little more bold that Claire, he has less to lose and much more to gain. Claire on the other hand has only ever been hurt when she trusts those she loves and likes. Her experiences with men have been on the whole fairly bad, with something this important and permanent I imagine she would have more anxiety about admitting anything.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

* * *

><p><em>18 December, 2009<em>

Claire and Sylar sat side by side at the bar, Sylar sipping a glass of wine and Claire taking pulls of a glass of dark beer. They had decided to spend some time out in the city, and had been pushed in the direction of a quieter bar, but still very classy. Neither of them were particularly interested in going out and drinking, but it was a little harder to explain that alcohol wasn't the way to relaxing.

"I don't get it," Claire shrugged, "also this kind of tastes stupid."

"How can it taste stupid," Sylar laughed sharply, inhaling the scent of his glass of wine

Claire set the mostly full glass on the wooden bar top, "It just does. Okay, maybe it's because my taste buds are in perfect condition, but this is terrible."

Sylar pulled her beer away, "It is also an acquired taste, try this."

Claire rolled her eyes as Sylar held his glass of rosy white liquid to her mouth, so she could take a sip. She let it spill over her tongue, welling under her tongue for a moment before swallowing. "Still not great," Claire made a little face, "but it is better than beer."

Sylar set his glass in front of her before taking hold of her beer, "Trade you."

Leaning into him slightly, Claire kissed his jaw, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sylar slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her a little closer. "And I agree, I don't get it either."

"Right," the words slipped out in an odd expression of excitement. "Bars are weird, a bunch of people paying triple what they would at a grocery store for a drink, standing around and being stupid."

"It's a mating ritual," Sylar pointed out, "check out the guy in the corner, if he unbuttoned anything else it would indecent."

Claire turned slightly, watching surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. She spotted the guy immediately. He was wearing a brilliant red shirt that had a _very_ deep cut, several buttons undone. Claire could see an unhealthy amount of skin and it was sickly looking at that, very pale with a hint of yellow.

Sylar's breath hit Claire's ear, making the skin flush, "Watch how he approaches women and how they run."

As a practiced predator, Sylar had called it precisely, each woman the guy approached retreated in double-time. Claire ducked her head against Sylar's broad shoulder to muffle the laughter.

"Is anyone sitting here," a voice interrupted Claire's fit.

She looked up sharply to see a couple, both dressed in comfortable clothes.

Sylar pasted a smile on his face, "No, please, feel free."

"Thank you," the woman smiled blindingly, extending her hand to Claire, "I'm Sara and this is Dave."

"Claire," Claire shook the dark-haired woman's hand.

"Gabriel," Sylar offered easily, "nice to meet you."

Dave nodded and shucked his coat, sitting down at the bar, "What brings you folks out tonight?"

"Uh," Claire shrugged, "just a night out really."

Sylar pressed a kiss to her cheek, "We just wanted to get out of the hotel for the night."

"Oh," Sara cooed excitedly, "are you in town visiting family?"

Claire shook her head, taking a deep gulp of her wine, "Not really, getting away from them, actually."

"Wish I could do that," Dave sighed wistfully, glancing around Sara so he could throw a knowing look at Sylar.

"Well," Sylar exhaled, "we also wanted a white Christmas, you just don't get that in Texas."

"The snow is beautiful in the city," Sara smiled. "So what do you guys do in Texas?"

"Paper Company," was the unanimous answer. Sylar frowned congenially, "Claire and I both work for a paper company in Texas."

"Is that how you met," Sara fired off immediately.

"No," Claire leaned back into Sylar for comfort. "We met at a homecoming game I was cheering at."

Dave smiled, "I can't imagine working with my girlfriend. How do you manage?"

"Wife," Sylar corrected absently, "It has its moments, we disagreed a lot, in the past, but we've overcome it."

The tiny blonde attached to his side rolled her eyes, "Don't listen to him. We still disagree, but we haven't gone for each other's throats it weeks. It's progress really."

"Sweetheart," Sylar chuckled falsely, "Don't exaggerate. She's a kidder."

Dave's head tilted in Sara's direction, "You've never seen her go for it."

"Shut up," an elbow met Dave's ribs causing him to grunt in pain. "Hey, it is trivia night, Dave and I usually get slaughtered by ourselves, want to team up?"

Claire's mouth opened, moving wordlessly. Luckily Sylar jumped in, "We would love to!"

"Awesome," Sara cheered, "let's grab a table and sign up before all the good spots are taken."

* * *

><p>"Question seventeen, What is the first question posed in the lyrical masterpiece that is "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath," the quizmaster called.<p>

"Oh," Dave gritted his teeth, "I know this…Losing something."

"Has he lost his mind," Claire whispered eagerly, ignoring the hand that was sliding lower and lower on her back, brushing against her bottom.

Sara scribbled the answer on the paper as the next question was called, "In 2008, a teenager in the UK legally changed his name to what amalgamation of superheroes?"

"Oh," Sara jumped, "I know this!" Her pen flashed against the paper the words _Captain Fantastic Faster Than Superman Spiderman Batman Wolverine The Hulk and The Flash Combined_ covering the paper.

"And I thought you had an ego," Claire smirked at Sylar.

"Port Said is in which North African Country?"

"Egypt," Sylar and Claire said in tandem.

Dave clapped his hands in glee, "We may actually have a chance to win this!"

"Who wrote the book _Catch-22_."

"Joseph Heller," Sylar tapped the paper distractedly.

Sara did a little happy dance in her seat, "How do you two know all of this?"

"I did a lot of reading when I was younger," Sylar brushed off the question. "And Claire, she's just brilliant."

"I'm not," Claire rejected, "I just liked watching Jeopardy with my dad."

"Nathan," Sylar frowned, "no."

"Noah," Claire confirmed, whispering in his ear, "Before everything went to hell."

"Last question of the game, folks. 'Champagne Supernova' ends with three questions, what is the third?"

Claire snapped back to focus, her whole face lighting up, she closed her eyes, letting her ears tune out the rest of the world. She hummed softly, eyes flicking back and forth as she mentally searched for the song, for the lyrics.

"How many special people change," she breathed the lyrics, her voice lilting up at the end of the question, "How many lives are living strange?" Claire gritted her teeth and breathed out forcefully, "Where were you…when we were getting high."

"Are you sure," the brunette across from Claire asked, "There is an ice cream maker riding on this."

"Yes, Sara," Claire nodded her head, "Final answer."

"Okay, the truth awaits," Dave high fived Sylar and Claire before taking the completed answer sheet and racing up to the front to turn it in.

Leaning against her _husband_, Claire groaned happily, relaxing into his warmth, his hand stroking her hipbone and grazing her bellybutton. "Having fun," she asked lightly.

"Yeah," Sylar told her, "this almost seems normal, although maybe we're not a couple who double dates."

Looking up at Sylar, Claire tilted her head and kissed the corner of his mouth, "Agreed."

The rest of the night passed in a less rushed manner. The foursome had easily won the ice cream maker, which Claire and Sylar had insisted Dave and Sara take. Their drinks were also comped, which led to some very intriguing questions about how 'Gabriel' and Claire were still totally coherent after multiple rounds of shots.

Sylar had shrugged off the questions and easily escorted Claire to a cab where he soundly kissed Claire and set them in the direction of home. Curled in the back of the cab, Claire wallowed in the scent of Sylar. He made her feel warm right down her spin and to her toes, and just mellow, everything was easy with him.

"Someday you will find me, caught beneath the landslide in a champagne supernova in the sky," Claire sang softly, "a champagne supernova in the sky."

Sylar held her a little tighter, letting her smooth, clear voice sink into his bones. "I like it when you sing," he murmured.

* * *

><p>AN: 19/25. It is officially Winter Break, except for some serious grading I have to get done. So happy holidays, also gotta love some trivia!


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

* * *

><p><em>20 December, 2009<em>

When the alarm rang loudly in the early hours of the morning Sylar rolled over in annoyance and flicked his fingers in the direction of the offending noise, silencing it with a fizzle of electronics frying.

"Well there goes your murder-free streak," Claire sighed into her pillow, pulling her arms in closer to her body. "Why did you even set the stupid alarm?"

Shifting on the bed, Sylar moved so he could half-cover Claire's body with his. He loved being able to sidle up to her and fit her body against his. Sylar was a man after all, and he was _very_ appreciative of Claire's curves as well as her valleys. Her body was stiff under his. Claire's muscles were tensed in half shivers. As he curled around her she relaxed, her muffled breathing become a moan of pleasure.

"I set is so we could ignore it," Sylar pressed a kiss to Claire's bare shoulder, wrapping his arms around her.

Body arching, a tiny mewl slipped between her lips as Claire stretched. "And why are we ignoring it?"

Lips pressed to the hollow behind her ear, "So I can spend as much time as possible holding you like this."

"You are warm," Claire yawned lightly, head tilting to give the man paying a great deal of attention to her neck even more access.

"And you are _very_ cold," Sylar tightened his grip on her, pulling her more securely against himself. "Although it might help if you wore more clothing than those little shorts and tanks you like so much."

"And where would you be if I started bundling up," Claire asked with a soft smile.

Teeth nipped lightly on the tender skin of Claire's neck, scraping before Sylar's lips secured their place and the man sucked gently. Her whole body rocked at the sensation as Claire inhaled forcefully, body tensing for a very different reason than being cold.

A rough laugh vibrated down Claire's spin, "Out of luck."

"Exactly," Claire tilted her neck a little more, thoroughly annoyed that Sylar had been distracted from his task, "Now, where were you?"

Sylar curled a little closer, "Right here."

Squeezing her eyes closed, Claire sighed, "Not really what I meant."

"Oh," Sylar exhaled against the back of her neck, "did you mean this," he pressed his lips to one of her vertebrae. Sylar grinned against her warm skin, brushing his lips along her neck, down her shoulder before sinking his teeth playfully into the tender muscle where her neck and shoulder met. Claire gasped again, before the gentle sound became a throaty moan.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sylar said lowly, one hand drifting down along Claire's side, slipping along her belly and skimming her bare thigh, flirting with the edges of her shorts.

"What," was the breathless question before Claire nodded hastily, "yeah?"

Rolling slightly, Sylar dragged Claire's body against his, wedging his leg between hers. Green eyes flashed open as hand slid along the back of Claire's thigh, hiking her leg up and against Sylar's hip. A blazing trail of hit followed Sylar's long fingers as he urged her closer.

"Good morning," Sylar smirked, "how are you feeling?"

"Good," Claire nodded absently as she shifted against Sylar, a thread of desire coiling tightly in her belly.

He kissed her, tongue parting her lips almost immediately so he could explore every inch of her mouth. It was a slow kiss, languorous and firm. There was no awkward fumbling, just Sylar taking ownership of her mouth and Claire letting him, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Claire pulled herself roughly against him, arms curling around Sylar's neck. They didn't bother to part, even when their bodies naturally cried for oxygen. While there wasn't a need, and it wouldn't kill them, their bodies still reacting in similar ways.

The kiss became less languid and more hurried, Sylar's hand sliding up from the back of Clair's knee, fingers skating underneath the fabric of her shorts. It was Sylar's turn to react instinctually. He groaned softly and pulled away from Claire's lips when all that met his fingers was more taut, warm skin.

"You're not wearing underwear," it was a breathless statement as his hand shifted slightly as it cupped her bottom, fingers still dancing across the firm globe, searching.

The young woman's chest stilled. The breath she had taken oscillated in her throat, never fully inhaled or exhaled. He was watching her, dark eyes seeking permission, asking for her to trust him, to let him touch her. His fingers twitched against her skin but they never moved more than a millimeter, waiting for acceptance or rejection.

Claire, for her part wasn't precisely sure how to answer the unasked question. In this moment, when her blood began to cool, she had doubts that disappeared the moment he looked at her with those dark eyes, and his lips met hers, or his fingers crossed her body. If Claire's body didn't actively heal brain damage, especially resulting from oxygen deprivation, she might have blamed her muddled thoughts on that.

"Claire," her name was the softest question in his mouth.

Her eyes broke their gaze as Claire ducked her head. Sylar's hand slid back down her thigh before he moved to pull Claire against his chest, the tension of the moment evaporating. Burrowing against Sylar's bare chest, Claire sniffed softly, tamping down on the tumult of emotions threatening to spill over.

Nails dug into Sylar's shoulder as Claire clung to him, he frowned rested his lips against the top of her head, cradling her carefully. "Sorry," her voice was warbled, weak from the whiplash of emotion.

Leaning back slightly, Sylar stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb, "You have nothing to be sorry for." The sweetness of Sylar's gesture seemed to backfire as tears began to leak from her eyes. "Hey," he breathed, giving her a weak smile, "anything you need or want to say, you can, I will always listen."

Her eyes closed, lashes wet with tears that trembled before falling down her cheeks. "Did you ever wonder how I knew about the spot," Claire's voice was a whisper in the dark. Sylar knew better than to say anything. "Before homecoming, I went to the rally, I ended up dying, a tree branch got jammed into my skull," Claire leaned into the hand that began to weave through her hair. "I woke up in the morgue, with my ribs spread open. I read the file, I was found in the river, stripped naked." Sylar's whole body tensed and Claire flinched waiting for him to pull away. Claire hadn't told anyone besides her father, she was terrified about how people would look at her if she said anything. "Turns out that the guy I really liked, wasn't so nice, he tried to force me…I died during the struggle, and he stripped me and threw me in the river," Claire finished, waiting for the inevitable questions.

Sylar tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him, her eyes flicked up to meet his, "Did he…rape you?"

And there it was. The question Claire didn't have the answer to, and might never have the answer to. "I don't know," Claire shrugged uncomfortably, "I never got a straight answer out him, but I made sure he paid, and so did the Haitian."

"Claire," Sylar pressed a kiss to her forehead, "I don't…there aren't words."

Claire didn't need words. She didn't need empty promises or pity in the guise of sympathy or empathy. What Sylar was giving her was more than she had ever had, it was all she needed. Relaxing, boneless, in Sylar's arms, Claire felt whole for the very first time in a very long while.

* * *

><p>AN: 20/25. Well there goes my brain. On a serious note I felt it was really important to deal with Claire's assault. It is an issue that is close to my heart and I couldn't possibly move their relationship along without dealing with it a little. Happy holidays, ta!


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>21 December, 2009<em>

"This is ridiculous," Sylar breathed in amazement, "How did we even end up here?"

Eyes firmly shut, Claire leaned back against Sylar's chest and yawned heavily. "I have no idea," she forced out, "It has been _hours_."

It had been hours since the duo had left the hotel in order to do a little shopping and found themselves circling the aisles of a grocery store looking for junk food. The whole adventure had started off because it was a Monday and they had nothing to do. Claire had used the "B-word" which had led to Sylar challenging her to a board-game-off, which led to the realization that they didn't actually have any games to play.

The toy store had been a clear manifestation of Hell. Children screaming, obnoxiously loud music, oblivious shoppers, and aisle upon aisle of nonsensical toys that children might play with once before discarding. In a word it was _hell_. Sylar's patience had quite visibly dried up as they were jostled about. To prevent any tragic accidents for the toys, Claire had pulled out her phone and found a game store that was a little off the beaten path. That store had been much quieter and offered a wealth of games for the pair to pick from.

Of course, Sylar being Sylar and Claire being Claire meant that their trip couldn't end there. They would need copious amounts of junk food and snacks while they played. The ducked into a little hole-in-the-wall convenience store and picked up a half dozen random snacks and drinks only to realize as they drove away they had forgotten popcorn. It had only gotten worse from there.

"We suck at shopping," was Sylar's conclusion upon review of the day's events. "This should be impossible, how can we have been to six stores, and I'm sure we still haven't gotten everything we need."

Claire leaned forward, looking into the cart, mentally cataloguing what they had bought, "Maybe we should give up?"

"I don't give up, Claire," he said pointedly. "It's just not in my encyclopedia."

Claire groaned, head dropping onto the plastic cover of the cart handle. "This is torture. Seriously, I bet we could give the Company a few primo tips about torture after this little adventure."

"Don't be dramatic," Sylar scolded her lightly, moving the cart towards the checkout line. As much as _he_ didn't give up, he was not going to put Claire through any more 'torture'. He was evil, not cruel.

"That's the thing, I'm _not_ being dramatic," Claire whimpered, voice wavering. "We have been here for hours, I might die here!"

"Well if you weren't being dramatic before, you are now," Sylar kissed her shoulder, "besides, aren't girls supposed to _like_ shopping?"

"Yeah well, outlier," Claire snapped.

* * *

><p>"You sunk my battleship," Sylar told Claire, his voice flat.<p>

"Sweet," Claire muttered, pink tongue tucked between her lips as she furrowed her brow in thought. "B…five?"

"Nothing," Sylar told her, "A-three?"

"Hit," Claire grumbled, "E-nine."

"Hit," Sylar scowled, "how are doing this?"

"Magic," Claire drew out the word as she surveyed her board, "Oh, I have you pinned."

"D-three," Sylar gritted out. Claire was kicking his backside from Chicago to Toronto and back and she wasn't lying or cheating, he had triple checked.

Tongue sliding along her lower lip, Claire glanced up at Sylar demurely, a sexy little smirk curling her mouth, "D-Four."

"I quit," Sylar flicked the top of his game board closed.

"You can't quit if you were just beaten," Claire corrected.

"Whatever, let's just play something else," Sylar glared over his cup of hot chocolate.

Claire shrugged, "Fine, you can pick."

"Okay," Sylar surveyed the stack of games they had amassed on their shopping trip. "Twister."

"Seriously," Claire's eyebrows rose sharply at his choice, "Okay, whatever you want."

Standing, Claire lifted her arms over her head and twisted her torso to either side. Sylar was fully focused on unfurling the plastic tarp for the game, their game of Battleship forgotten about. Leaning down, Claire touched her toes, before letting her body relax into the splits. Claire was fairly sure that Sylar had forgotten that she had been a cheerleader, and whatever strength advantage he believed he would have in this game would be far less advantageous than he did we How did we enven

"Ready," Claire asked as she pulled herself onto her knees, "No holding back?"

"It is on," Sylar told her firmly as he handed her the spinner. "Ladies first." Claire smiled sweetly and flicked the plastic hand. Sylar leaned across the spinner and kissed Claire, "Good luck, you'll need it."

The spinner landed on left hand yellow, Sylar obligingly settled his hand on the big dot, took the spinner, and waited for Claire to position herself on the correct dot.

Twister, as its name described, was more than sufficient at twisting people into veritable knots. After half a dozen turns of the spinner, Claire and Sylar were settled into arm-breakingly uncomfortable positions. Claire was braced half on-top of Sylar, while he had one leg twisted around her leg.

He grunted as he leaned on one arm so he could tap the spinner, "Green, right hand."

Arching her back, Claire glanced over her shoulder before lifting her right hand and pushing herself back. Her hand landed on the correct dot with a little squeak. Claire had successfully twisted her body, into a bridge, her legs twisted, trapping Sylar's leg between hers. Inhaling, Sylar slowly raised his arm, rotating his body, following Claire's path.

Sylar's body pressed down against Claire's, he smirked, "How are you doing, Claire?"

"Fine," she told him easily before pausing, "well, actually, could you do me a favor?"

"What," Sylar asked.

Claire wiggled slightly, "I have an itch."

"Okay?"

Her eyes flicked down, "It's kind of awkward."

"Claire," Sylar exhaled, "just ask."

"My boob," she gave him a helpless, apologetic smile.

Sylar's face went slack at her words, "Okay."

Claire sighed in relief and wiggled a little more, arching her back a little further, presenting her chest to Sylar. He didn't move, so Claire whimpered, pressing up into his body. When Sylar did move at last, it was to set his teeth on the small buttons that kept her shirt closed. He tugged each button free, his breath making Claire's sensitive skin pucker. She moved a little more, writhing beneath Sylar, moaning, head falling back at the sensation. Sylar groaned as his lips came into contact with the warm swell of her breasts, his task quickly forgotten as he kissed the bounty of flesh. Teeth scraped roughly across Claire's skin only for Sylar's tongue to sooth the velvet soft skin.

A voracious growl ripped from Sylar's throat, he surged forward, his focus breaking his balance. They sprawled onto the ground, Sylar pinning Claire to the ground. Sylar's hands found her waist, tugging at the offending shirt, pulling it up and over her head, before he refocused on the half-naked woman beneath him. With his lips on Claire's chest, hands slipping beneath her to slide the clasp of her bra open, the last things Sylar expected to hear was Claire laughing. Moaning in ecstasy, hopefully, laughing, no.

"What," Sylar growled his face darkening at the noise bubbling up from Claire.

"You just lost," Claire smirked before she yanked him down for a kiss. Unsurprisingly Sylar didn't much care that he had just lost another game to Claire, at least not while he was devouring her.

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><p>AN: 21/25. So shopping trip was inspired by my afternoon, show of hands, who else has been spending way too much time forgetting things at the store this holiday? Anyhow, four chapters left!


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>22 December, 2009<em>

Sylar and Claire sat side by side in bed on Tuesday evening reading, bodies just close enough to touch but not so close that either felt crowded. The day had exhausted both of them, mentally, physically they were both ready to go. That, Claire supposed was the comedy of their lives now. Their bodies regenerated with no problems, everything crystallized in perfection. Their minds however were another story.

Claire was beginning to understand Adam just a little. The madness that drove him after so many years of being alone, of doing the same things, of watching the world turn but never really change. Claire had experienced just a teaspoon full of that madness when she first understood her condition. She had attempted, quite seriously, to end her existence. It was about more than just testing the limits of what she could recover from.

The chaos of the first few months and years of fighting and hiding had given Claire a purpose, something in which she could bury herself and hide from the truth. When the chaos calmed, all Claire had left was the understanding that she would be alone. The introspection was in part, due to Noah calling early in the afternoon. He had asked simple questions Claire simply didn't know how to answer. She had struggled to separate the week's events, even struggled to recall what day it was. Noah had been too focused on _where_ Claire was to hear the confusion in her voice.

It was a stupid fear, Claire knew it, but the reasoning was probable. She had so much time on her hands and very little to fill that time. Eyes flicking back to her book, Claire scooted a little closer to Sylar, resting her cheek against his arm.

"Sylar," she whispered still pretending to read the book, "Do you ever wonder if we'll get bored?"

"Boredom is a natural part of life," he answered easily. "Why?"

"Do you think we'll ever get bored of each other," Claire asked, fingers curling tightly against her book.

Sylar's book closed with a whisper of paper and he turned to look at her, "No."

"How can answer that," Claire closed her eyes, the book falling into her lap. "How is it that easy?"

"Because," Sylar pulled Claire into his arms, cradling her in his lap, "I know that I have never felt this at peace, this comfortable with _who_ I am. No matter what, Claire, I will never let that go, I will never let you go."

Claire shook her head, "That's not…I'm not going to leave you either, but what if there's no purpose in our lives. This is nice, relaxing, but what do we do for the next god knows how many years!"

A trail of gentle kisses were pressed against Claire's face, "We'll find things to do, maybe I'll go to college, we could learn everything there is to learn, we could travel the world, explore every peak and depth in the world. There is _so_ much out there Claire, and our world is getting bigger every day."

His words comforted Claire immediately; she relaxed against him sinking into his warmth, "Okay."

Grip tightening, Sylar kissed Claire soundly before smiling down at her, "So after Christmas, what do you want to happen?"

The blonde jerked in his arms, "Whoa, don't get ahead of yourself there."

He laughed, a full, body shaking laugh, "I'm getting ahead of myself, really?"

"Yes," Claire told him, eyes wide, "_Very_ ahead of yourself."

"Excuse me," Sylar kissed her forehead, "Maybe I just need you, and I can't imagine being apart from you now."

"God you're a sap," Claire wriggled out of his hold and bounced off the bed, "Seriously what is wrong with you, you go from psycho murderer to gooey boyfriend like _that_." Claire snapped her fingers throwing a smirk over her shoulder as she darted from the bedroom, Sylar's footsteps pounding after her.

The doors to the patio were tossed wide and Claire ran out onto the cold flagstones, bare feet leaving perfect imprints on the fresh snow. Sylar followed her, ignoring the chill, he watched as Claire stripped her t-shirt off, leaving her in a very lacy bra and not much else, Claire hadn't been wearing shorts in bed, just her panties.

"Claire," Sylar warned, his voice pitched low with desire. "What are you doing?"

"Warming up," Claire teased as she slowed her steps and pivoted to face him as he advanced. She took a step backward, and another.

In a flurry of movement, Claire had taken the last few feet to the hot tub and plunged into the steaming water. Claire ducked underneath the water before she broke the surface, enjoying the odd sensation of the intense cold on her heated skin. Gooseflesh raced across Claire's skin, the scant lace covering her doing nothing to impede the cold breeze.

Unhurried steps brought Sylar to the edge of the oversized tub sunk into the patio. "Enjoying yourself," he asked crossing his arms over his bare chest.

"Mm," Claire moaned, sinking back into the water and pushing away from the predator who had his eyes trained on her. "I am, want to join me?"

Body thrumming with heat, Sylar forced himself to stay rooted to his spot, not willing to allow Claire to see how easily she effected him. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and she was looking up at him with dark eyes, every curve of her body calling to him.

"And why would I want to do that," he asked in as unaffected a voice as he could.

Lips falling into a pout, Claire swam towards him, "Well, I seemed to have lost my clothes, I was hoping you could help me find them."

"Is that it, that's the best reason you can come up with," Sylar asked lightly.

Claire rolled in the water, pushing away from Sylar, "Well, I might be able to think of another reason…"

There was no arguing it, he was hooked. Slipping off his drawstring pajama pants leaving his boxer-briefs on, Sylar stepped down into the pool of water. In long, smooth strides Sylar moved through the water. Reaching out with one hand he latched onto Claire's ankle and pulled her back, enjoying the startled look of surprise that manifested in her eyes even as she began to smile.

Giggling Claire attempted to pull away from him, it was a vain action. Sylar dragged her through the water, hands finding purchase higher and higher on her body until he had her caught around the waist, her legs curled around his hips.

"Hi," she whispered shyly.

Sylar grinned, brushing his nose against hers, "Hi."

The soaked blonde melted against Sylar, every inch of her body that could possibly be pressed against him was. A roll of Claire's hips had Sylar clinging to her, mouth pressed to her chest, tasting her through the thin lace. While she was very aware of the power she held over Sylar like this, Claire was equally aware of how very needy she was in response to his touch. Every touch was a spark of lightning, a flood of heat in her belly.

That was one thing Claire would never have to worry about, she and Sylar had a mesmeric physical attraction. She smiled euphorically as she considered that they were _very_ good at keeping each other on their toes. Loving Sylar would never be boring, living life with him would always be an adventure.

* * *

><p>AN: 22/25. Well I spent the afternoon and early evening a bit sick, I'm feeling better, but for a moment I thought I might have to skip writing today. But here it is! Thanks for all the lovely comments, ta!


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>23 December, 2009<em>

"Merry Christmas Eve Eve," Sylar wrapped his arms around Claire's waist as she leaned against the counter.

"You are seriously pushing the cheese factor," Claire giggled as Sylar made quick work of pressing kisses to her neck. "What has you in such a good mood?"

"Mm," Sylar inhaled the scent of her skin before biting her lightly, "Am I, I can't imagine what gave you that impression."

Claire rolled her eyes as she attempted to focus on the text she was sending Peter. Sylar wasn't exactly making it easy on her. He had his body fully pressed against her, hands roaming not quite lasciviously but too familiarly altogether. Rolling her shoulder, Claire tried to shrug Sylar off her. Her phone clattered to the counter top as Sylar's arms came around Claire entirely trapping her arms to her side. Sylar snickered as he pulled Claire up and away from the counter, her feet leaving the ground as she kicked against his hold.

"Sylar!"

"I'm waiting for an answer," Sylar said growling playfully in her ear.

She wriggled against his hold, "I was in the middle of texting Peter!"

"Could we not talk about the pretty boy for three seconds, especially when I really, really want to keep the picture of you leaning over that counter in my head," the smirk was audible in Sylar's voice.

"God," Claire groaned in disgust.

Sylar hefted her up to change his hold on her, cradling her against his chest arms under her back and knees. "It's not my fault that you are _very_ enticing. Why I could just eat you up."

"And creepy," Claire's dazed face cleared instantly. "Seriously never again."

"Mm, totally," Sylar nodded as he walked back to the counter and laid Claire on top of it. "There, now what am I in the mood for," Sylar trailed off as he made his way to the fridge.

Claire scowled as she sat up and moved to roll of the counter, one firm look form Sylar had her staying in place. A thrill ran through her body making her squirm in place. Sylar kept his back to Claire, hiding what he was doing as he rustled in cabinets and hummed a Christmas carol to himself. After a few moments and some odd clinking Sylar turned around holding a tray of shot glasses filled with a dark, creamy liquid.

"What's the big idea," Claire asked hesitantly, utterly unsure where Sylar thoughts were headed.

With a saucy look, Sylar set the tray down and let out a little chuckle, "Alright, shirt off."

"Excuse you," Claire's eyes were wide. "What do you think this is, some sort of topless beach?"

"Oh, that it were," Sylar pouted slightly before the smile returned, "But no, we're doing body shots, so top off."

Scraping the t-shirt up her torso, Claire frowned thoughtfully, "You do realize that the point of body shots is that they're alcoholic, and that the people involved are affected by the alcohol, right?"

"Well aware, these are hot chocolate," Sylar lifted one of the many shot glasses up, "Now lie down, and hold still."

"Why," Claire asked as she dropped her shirt onto the floor as she settled back.

Her answer came in the form of tiny weights settling in a line from her sternum to her low-rise shorts. Tilting her head up, Claire had to stop herself from laughing at the sight of five steaming shot glasses of hot chocolate sitting on her stomach. Sylar's hand slipped beneath her head, curling in her hair and holding her still so he could press a potentially bruising kiss to Claire's lips before helping her relax fully on the counter.

"Honestly," Claire rolled her eyes, "what is the point of this?"

A soft hissing filled the air and a cool feeling spread along her stomach as Sylar ducked down closer to Claire's body. "Just relax," he quieted her. "I promise you will enjoy this, so trust me."

"Fine," was the sighed reply as Claire forced herself to relax, closing her eyes and focusing on the small sensations racing across her skin.

Claire's muscles twitched in anticipation, Sylar was dead silent and absolutely nothing was happening. When, at long last, one of the weights lifted and Claire could finally see Sylar as he tossed the shot back, his whole body dipped out of view almost immediately. Claire inhaled sharply as his mouth latched onto her belly, sucking gently before his tongue laved across the skin, lapping and sucking alternately.

A soft breath of laughter chilled Claire's newly dampened skin, as Sylar nuzzled against her toned skin. Another glass was quickly downed and Sylar's tongue traced a new path across her lower belly, teeth scraping pleasantly. The third shot was a standard affair, swallow and suck. The Fourth deviated; it was dribbled across Claire's stomach, leaving trails of hot liquid for Sylar to chase. The last left the blonde painting. Sylar took the shot with little fanfare before his tongue stroked a heated path from the base of her belly up to her sternum. He stopped to swirl his tongue in her belly button, making Claire's hips buck.

Fingers tightened against the skin of Claire's thighs, digging in pleasantly, rooting her to the feeling of the moment. Every whimper Sylar extracted was met with a surge in his efforts, every whimper was the motivation to earn another and another. The firm order to stay still went unsaid, leaving Claire to try desperately to control her body.

Control was a feat that Claire was struggling with at the moment. As much as she fought the rising heat in her body she couldn't keep still. Rising up, Claire looked down, watching Sylar ravage her bare skin, licking up the remains of what looked like whipped cream. Sylar smirked at the hazy look in Claire's eyes, with a nip at her side. He settled his hands on her hips and pulled her roughly towards the end of the counter and to him.

"Okay, I can kind of see the point," Claire conceded, panting heavily as Sylar moved up her body lips brushing and caressing every inch of her he could.

"I knew you would see it my way," he purred as she leaned forward, curling around him, mouth latching onto his earlobe, sucking gently.

Claire tugged on the skin between her teeth, a self-satisfied smirk forming on her lips, "Who said I wouldn't?"

A soft snort of laughter tickled Claire's shoulder, "Then why did you spend so much time arguing?"

"Did I?"

"You did," Sylar told her. "As I recall you were questioning if I understood the purpose of body shots. So, now that you've had a little time to assess my knowledge, what is your assessment?"

Pulling back, Claire studied Sylar carefully. His eyes were unfocused, dark, his whole face was shadowed. "Hm," she sighed, lifting her hands to cup his face, stroking and smoothing away the lines and tense muscles, "I suppose you I could give you a passing grade."

She giggled as he leaned up to kiss her, the passion simmering softly, the urgency fading from their embrace.

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><p>AN: 23/25. Two more to go! I am having all sorts of Sylaire warm fuzzies. Happy Holidays!


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>24 December, 2009<em>

Let it never be said that men are the faster of the genders in getting dressed. Claire was dressed in a slinky red number that Sylar had picked out, her hair was already slicked back into a little twist, and her heels were dangling off her toes as she reclined back on the neatly made bed.

"We're going to miss _next_ Christmas Eve if you don't get a move on," Claire called to her partner. "Seriously, we were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago."

Sylar leaned around the bathroom door to glare at her, hands firmly fixed in his hair, "Looking this good takes time."

"I could have gotten ready twice already," Claire shot back, "besides, if it takes you _this_ long to get ready, well…"

"How are you not on Santa's Naughty list," Sylar grumbled.

Claire smirked as she pulled her phone from her cleavage and began to text, "Who says I'm not?"

There was no answer from Sylar, he could only verbally spar for so long with Claire before he felt the need to kiss her everywhere and maybe do a few very indecent things as well. That was simply what Claire did to him; no matter what she was doing it was enticing. Hell, even when she had been evading him he had wanted her. Hell, he had found every single stab wound oddly thrilling. That wasn't to say that he found being stabbed and murdered erotic, but he was very attracted to Claire's feisty behavior.

Tonight was supposed to be the start of their first Christmas together. Sylar was determined he was going to be a gentleman, even if it killed him. Which, at the rate Claire was going it might…at least for a moment. He had helped pick out her dress, it was a dark red number that fell to the floor after hugging every curve Claire had and cutting a wide, low, v across her chest. It hid everything it needed to, but it revealed more than was safe. On top of the low neckline there was the dipping back of the dress and the slit that ran up the skirt nearly to the hip.

Steeling himself, Sylar pushed the image of Claire reclining on the bed, golden legs on display, from his mind. Patience was the watchword. Sylar had gone into this entire month unprepared, he had taken every day by storm. His only goal had been to force Claire to give him answers. Somewhere along the way answers had become irrelevant, it didn't matter who or what he was, it mattered that he was beside her. If the rest of this impromptu vacation with Claire had been haphazard, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, would be methodical. He would convince her that she wanted to be with him, not just for an hour, not for a week, not for a month, but forever.

Stepping out of the bathroom as he straightened his cuffs, Sylar smiled at Claire. "You look beautiful," he complimented, extending a hand to help her up from the bed.

"Thank you," Claire's demure answer wasn't what Sylar was expecting. Claire had never been one to buckle under pressure, so he had expected a little more backchat.

Curling one arm around Claire's waist he pulled her into his body, "I mean it."

The blush was fleeting, there and gone in an instant. It was charming; Sylar ducked his head and pressed his lips against Claire's. It didn't go any further than his lips brushing against hers.

* * *

><p>"Thank you," Claire murmured as Sylar pushed her chair in before ducking down to kiss her cheek.<p>

"You're welcome," he grasped her hand and holding it as he settled in his own chair. "Our first Christmas together," he mused.

Darkened lashes fluttered against her cheeks, "It is, first holiday we've been together."

"Together," Sylar grinned, "I like the sound of that."

"Of course you do," she tried not smile, but failed miserably.

"I do," Sylar agreed, falling silent as the waiter came over.

They sat and drank champagne and ate steak, Sylar laughing at just how efficient Claire was at putting away food. They talked softly, discussing past Christmases and their best memories. It was nice, soft. Anyone looking in on their conversation would see two people who were more interested in each other than the wine or the meal.

When the meal was cleared away Sylar downed the last sip of his champagne, stood and extended his hand to Claire, "Care to dance?"

Claire stood up, rolling her eyes as she did, "You've seen me dance, and I don't do _this_ kind of dancing."

The music was far from anything Sylar had seen Claire dance to. It was slow, mostly string instruments and a few brass components. It wasn't the heavy bass music that Claire danced to on the field, or at parties, or anywhere. Sylar had been an avid Claireologist, still was, he had watched her constantly, seen so much of her. He _hadn't_ seen her dance to anything like what was playing.

Hand cradled in his, Claire let him pull her to him, her free hand slipping up to rest on his shoulder as his came to rest on her bare back. Sylar stepped them back towards the dance floor, keeping Claire's body firmly pressed against his. They swayed gently, Sylar twisting his hand to trap Claire's hand against his chest.

Claire couldn't help but grin as Sylar led her around the floor, the swaying becoming distinct steps. The smile became soft laughter as Sylar twisted them across the floor, tipping Claire back slightly before pulling her upright again.

Head tipping up, Claire kissed Sylar's cheek. His hands stroked her spine, holding her to him. "So you do dance," Sylar breathed.

"I do not," Claire rejected, head falling to hide her smile. "This is _all_ your fault, I don't dance like this."

"My fault," Sylar cracked a smile, his voice a breath of laughter, "Well if you are placing blame for having you in my arms, I'll gladly take it."

Fingers curling in the smooth fabric of Sylar's jacket Claire inhaled deeply, "You are horrible."

The comment lacked any bite, "I am horribly in love with you, if that's what you mean."

"I didn't," Claire giggled.

Sylar pulled her closer, "I think you did, because you _know_ I love you."

There was the blush again, a flash of pink in her cheeks that disappeared just as quickly Sylar spun them around catching her lips in a small kiss. He repeated the three words in her ear, dancing her across the floor.

Claire pulled away, "Hey Sylar."

"Yes, Claire," he asked.

"I don't _hate _you," Claire offered, "I might actually sort of like you. _Sort_ _of_."

"I'll take that," Sylar grinned as he led Claire off the dance floor and towards the lobby and elevator, "One step at a time."

"Once step at a time," Claire agreed.

* * *

><p>Together they sat on the couch, lights off, in the glow of the lights of the tree. Claire had been telling the truth on the dance floor. She might not totally be ready to admit that she was kind of, sort of, in love with Sylar, but she could at least give him the hope he deserved. It wouldn't take much more time, he had already made a point of pushing his way into her life and making sure she wouldn't be able to live without him.<p>

Once step at a time Sylar had become a part of her. And it wasn't the worst thing in the world. In fact, Claire was looking forward to spending more than just _this_ Christmas with Sylar. He kept using the word "first" and Claire kept thinking the word "next".

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><p>AN: 24/25. Merry Christmas Eve, all! One more chapter to go, lots of love, ta!


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>25 December, 2009<em>

Claire woke early on Christmas morning and rolled out of bed, carefully extracting herself form Sylar's arms. She was determined to make him smile unrestrainedly. So, Claire had set her phone on vibrate and tucked it beneath her pillow, determined to make their first Christmas together perfect.

Inching her way across the bedroom floor, Claire slipped into the living room and set about perfecting Christmas morning. Retrieving her presents from their hiding places around the suite, Claire settled in front of the darkened tree and began to rearrange the presents, staggering the boxes and packages around the base of the tree.

The sun was still hidden, darkness and snow coating the world outside of the windows. Snuggling into the blanket Claire had dragged from the couch she surveyed her work. There was nothing like the glint of light off of wrapping paper, or the faint smell of pine and cinnamon swirling in the air.

Rising, Claire discarded the blanket on the couch and padded back to the bedroom. With a little sigh, Claire slipped in beside Sylar, draping herself on top of him.

"Where did you go," he murmured sleepily, arms wrapping around Claire.

Burrowing her head against Sylar's chest, Claire shook her head, "Nowhere."

Body shifting, Sylar pulled Claire further against him, blindly stroking her back and arms as if he was calming an animal. Snuggling further into him, Claire let her hand rest against his chest, enjoying the steady thrum of his heart under her hand, the heat that seeped into her body. Claire had never had trouble falling asleep, but when she laid beside Sylar everything slipped away, even the nightmares.

* * *

><p>Claire woke before Sylar, and sat up, straddling his waist. Leaning forward, Claire kissed a line up Sylar's stomach before catching his lips and nipping and sucking at them. Hands rose to clutch her hips, trapping her. A soft groan slipped from Sylar as he was roused to wakefulness.<p>

"I am really enjoying this wake up call," Sylar kissed Claire back, one hand latching onto the back of her neck and holding her firmly in place.

Undulating against him, Claire met each surge of the kiss, fighting for dominance. One swift move had Claire flat on her back with Sylar rising over her, his hands trailing all across her body as he took kiss after kiss. Legs trapped around his waist, Claire arched her back, keeping herself bonded to Sylar.

"Merry Christmas," Sylar breathed as he settled them both on the bed, his weight pressing down on her as he pillowed his head on her chest, his hips cradled between her thighs.

Fingers threaded though his hair, Claire enjoying the silky texture against her skin, "Merry Christmas, are you excited?"

A kiss bled through Claire's thin top, "I already have everything I want."

Claire swallowed the reflexive smile; she didn't want to give away how excited she was for him. Biting her lip, Claire sat up, forcing Sylar to rise as well, "Come on, it's Christmas morning, time to open presents."

Claire forced Sylar out of bed, shirtless, and dragged him into the darkened living room. She watched him, the hesitant footsteps halting, and his amused face went slack as he took in the tree. Slowly, Sylar's face brightened, his smile fixing itself a little wider, his eyes unguarded, and his whole body lifting. With a laugh he swept Claire into his arms and spun her around, face crushed against her neck. Each laughing breath was warm against her skin; it made her shiver pleasurably. Curling his arms around Sylar's neck, Claire stroked the nape of his neck.

At last when he set her on her feet, he locked lips with her, "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas," Claire repeated, pulling him to sit in front of the tree with her, "come on, lots of memories to make."

It seemed like Sylar's hands were never empty. Claire handed him present after present, most of them were little things, jokes, knick knacks that didn't cost a thing, but they made him smile. Just the act of unwrapping gifts while someone he loved looked on enjoying his pleasure made his joy twofold. Sylar had returned the favor easily, his presents were more extravagant, but to Claire that didn't matter. What mattered was that he knew her well enough to gift her with things that she wanted. A book she had skimmed the spine of once, a tiny bear pendant she had pointed out in a magazine, a pack of hair bands because she kept fiddling with her growing locks. The thought that Sylar had put into each present only affirmed the choice Claire had made.

Presents set aside and wrapping paper tossed into the fire, Claire pulled Sylar into her as she sat beneath the tree. In a few quick seconds Claire had arranged herself against him, leaning back against his chest, smiling up at him as he looked down at her. For once it wasn't Sylar that was toting the camera. Claire lifted her phone and snapped a picture of them settled beneath the tree, looking as natural as if it was the millionth time they had taken such a photo.

The digital click startled Sylar enough that Claire managed to pull him down for a kiss and snap a second picture. Dropping the phone to the side, Claire kissed him fully. "I think was my best First Christmas," Claire stroked his smooth cheek. "How are we going to top this next year?"

"Next year," the words were a question and a plea.

Head ducking, Claire bit her lip, "I know that I'm risking you throwing my words back in my face, but I've been thinking about what happens next. What happens when I go back to Virginia?"

His face slackened, the fear rising up just a little before he could quell the instinctual urge to lash out at a potential rejection.

"Are you going to come with me," Claire continued, unsettled as much by the topic at hand as by Sylar's silence.

"Claire," her name was a breath of relief, fears nullified for a moment.

"I mean," Claire powered on, "I sort of already arranged to move out of my dorm, my roommate is kind of freaking me out, and I asked the Haitian to erase her memory of me, and I have permission to live off campus…"

Lips curving upward wryly, and a little roguishly Sylar lifted a hand to rest on her neck, rubbing his thumb across her cheek, "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

Claire giggled as she leaned into his touch, "Not really, that would mean I had somewhere to live."

"What does this mean," Sylar asked, hating how he sounded like a terrible chick flick.

Shifting so that she was sitting in Sylar's lap, Claire kissed him tenderly, lips lingering, hands cupping, their breath shared. After a moment Claire pulled away slightly, her forehead pressed against his, "It means I want to see what we can do together, Sylar, I want to come home to you at night and lay in your arms, and I want to do stupid things like go on dates and have family parties, and I want you, because I've never been this content with who I am with anyone else, because you know me better than anyone else, and you make me feel wanted, just as I am."

Sylar reunited their lips, a need present in his kiss that was fueled by her words, by emotions he hadn't felt at liberty to express, "I love you, Claire. Anything you need, I'll give you."

"Good," Claire smiled and pulled away, phone appearing in her hands.

Sylar watched as she flicked through the photos until she came to the picture of them looking into each other's eyes in front of the glow of the Christmas tree. He watched her fingers tap the screen, selecting the photo before rapidly sending it out to a half a dozen people.

"What did you just do," Sylar breathed in mild horror as he skimmed the list of recipients, "Did you just send that to your father, and Peter, and Matt?"

"And a few others," Claire nodded with a smile, "They'll have to find out sometime."

Rattling, hysterical laughter spilled from Sylar. He began to mutter about being hunted down and killed, Claire quickly stopped him by rising up and kissing him, even as her phone began to chime and buzz as harried texts flew in.

"Merry Christmas, Sylar, I look forward to loving you," Claire breathed.

Sylar's hands raced over her back, keeping her tight against him, "I look forward to convincing you that you already do." They laughed even as they began to kiss again, the whole world melting away until it was just them two.

* * *

><p>AN: 25/25. Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you had a lovely day. I certainly enjoyed spending time with my family and finally finishing this up. Thank you for all of the support. I do so enjoy when December rolls around and I write a chapter a day, really stretches my skill. A have a good morrow, and lots of love from yesterday!


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